The Chronicles of Narnia: Rise of the Cantricals
by miss.hawkins
Summary: Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy are thrust back into a warring Narnia. While there, they learn more about themselves, each other and the deep magic upon which Narnia was built. Includes: Peter/OC, Edmund/OC, Caspian/OC.  AU
1. Into the Battle

**1 – Into the Battle**

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"Come on, Ed!" Peter said, laughing. "Just pick one!"

"Hurry up!" Lucy chimed in.

"Alright, all ready!" Edmund situated himself between his older brother and younger sister. His eyes glazed over the array of brightly colored packages, eventually resting on a purple one with a red wrapper.

"Ah-hah!" he said triumphantly, grasping the present greedily his hands. He gave it a good shake, as though testing its merit.

"Edmund!" the three remaining Pevensie children shouted in unison.

"Ok, ok!"

The present in his lap, Edmund cast a quick smile and wink at Lucy. Beside him, Peter started the countdown.

"Three."

"Two," Susan joined.

"One!" Lucy and Edmund cried.

The Pevensies pounced on their gifts. The sound of ripping and tearing filled the air, closely followed by Lucy's shrieks of joy. In the corner, Mrs. Pevensie watched, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It had been a long two years, what with the war and all. It wasn't very often that she was blessed with such a scene–all four of her children happy.

"Oh, Mummy! It's wonderful!" Lucy squealed, practically jumping into her mother's lap. She wrapped her arms around Mrs. Pevensie's waist and buried her head in her stomach. The knit doll was clutched tightly in her left hand.

"Oh, my darling, I'm so glad you like it." Mrs. Pevensie hugged her youngest daughter, stroking her hair gently.

"It's perfect," Lucy declared, raising her head to look at her mother. A wide smile stretched across her features, and for a moment Lucy looked exactly like she should: a young girl.

Mrs. Pevensie sighed at this, feeling a miniscule amount of weight being lifted off her shoulders. A young girl. That's how it should be. Not worried. Not angry. Not scared. Not anything this war had brought upon them. Oh, they tried to hide it. All of them. Especially Peter, who had been forced into early adulthood, taking on the duty of caring for his siblings. He put on a brave face, but underneath it she could see the wisdom and anxiety that should never affect one so young. He had come back from the country a changed man.

She missed her eldest son.

A loud peal of laughter forced Mrs. Pevensie back to the present. Lucy had released her, and was currently doing her best to not double over in laughter. Beside her, Edmund wore a look of complete disgust.

"I think I chose the wrong present," he whispered, holding the bright orange and yellow striped socks at his eye-level.

"But, Ed," Peter chortled, "They'll match your eyes so well!"

"Shut it, you!" Edmund retorted, his face flushing. Then he made the mistake of looking at his mother, whose eyes were shining with happiness. A lump formed in the back of his throat.

"I know it's not much, but what with this dreadful winter…I wanted you to be warm."

The Pevensie children exchanged amused expressions at the words 'dreadful winter'. Their mother didn't know what winter was.

"Uh, right," Edmund replied, forcing himself to smile. "It's…perfect. Thanks, Mum."

"Well, go on!" Susan gave him a playful shove. "Put them on!"

Edmund shot her a murderous look. But after glancing once more at his mother, did as he was told. He pulled off his size-too-small shoes, stripped his dingy gray socks off and forced the orange and yellow ones on. Warmth speeded through his toes. If nothing else, the socks did provide some heat. As for the colors…well, he was already thinking up ways to dirty them from view.

"Not too small, are they?" Mrs. Pevensie's eyes flashed in worry.

Edmund shook his head, ignoring the smirks on his siblings' faces. "No. They're perfect, Mum. Thanks…" He copied Lucy and hugged his mother. Edmund would never admit it to any of them, but his mother's hugs were his favorite things in the world. After he was done, Edmund returned to his spot between Peter and Lucy, doing his best to not sulk like a little kid. He ignored Peter's sly smiles, instead focusing his attention on a spot on the beige carpet.

Meanwhile, Susan had finished opening her present. She gazed at the embroidered gloves with shining eyes. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful pair she had ever seen. They were white and dainty; her initials were sewed in the right glove. Susan looked at Mrs. Pevensie silently, then bounded forward and embraced her.

"Thank you, Mum."

Unlike Lucy and Edmund, Susan realized just how lucky they were to even be getting presents. The war had hit the families of Finchley hard, and Christmas this year was impossible for most. Those gloves meant so much more than just a simple present.

"Of course, Susan," Mrs. Pevensie cooed.

"Oh, look!" Lucy suddenly cried, pointing to the window. "It's snowing!"

The Pevensies crowded around the window, watching in awe as each tiny snowflake fluttered to the ground.

"Oh, Mummy! Can we please go play in the snow? Please?"

"Yes, Mum, can we?"

Mrs. Pevensie just laughed. "Of course, darlings."

"Yay!" Lucy shot toward the door and flung it open. A gust of wind entered the house, causing them all to shiver.

"But first," Mrs. Pevensie said, standing up and moving around her youngest, "you need the proper clothing. Go and put your snow things on." With great effort, she managed to shut the door.

Lucy, Edmund, and Susan, smiling, ran down the hall toward the closet. Only Peter remained, the small package clutched in his hands. He stared at it, as though barely seeing it. Mrs. Pevensie watched with a wary eye. Peter was no longer a boy. He had reached the age of manhood last month. But as Mrs. Pevensie gazed upon her eldest, she realized that he looked much older than his age gave away. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and a slight crease formed across his forehead, resembling a man who had seen unspeakable things.

Mrs. Pevensie's heart didn't know if it could take anymore.

"Peter?" she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Whatever he had been seeing was lost as he shook his head and looked up at his mother. His eyes were distant.

"Are you all right, Peter?"

Peter nodded slowly. "I'm fine, Mum."

"You haven't opened your gift."

His gaze switched back to the half-torn apart parcel in his hands. Knowing it was what she wanted, he ripped away the last of the paper. In his hands was a watch; an old, worn, seen-better-days watch.

Peter only stared at it wordlessly. "But, Mum," he said, looking up at her, "this is Dad's." He couldn't accept it. Not now. Not when the war was almost over and his father would be coming home. He made to give it back to her.

Mrs. Pevensie shook her head. "He would want you to have it."

"But-"

"Peter, you're a man now. And a man ought to have a good, fine watch. This one was very special to your father. Take good care of it." And with that, Mrs. Pevensie clasped the thick, brown armband around Peter's wrist.

Peter's eyes were shining softly. His father's watch. He gazed at the face, feeling its weight on his arm. He nodded slowly.

"I will."

He stood up, his expression a mixture of joy and unease.

"Thanks, Mum," he said quietly, hugging his mother. He towered over her by a good three inches.

"You're welcome, dear. Now go join your brother and sisters in the snow…"

Peter sniffled, feeling foolish. But he again nodded and walked around his mother, conscious of her studying him. As he strode down the hall, his eyes stayed locked on the watch. It was so old, and so worn. But it also had familiar warmth to it, as though his father had just recently worn it. It–

Suddenly, something flashed across the glass. It lingered for only a second, then was gone. Peter froze.

No. It couldn't be. No. They had…he had…

"Peter!" a sudden cry echoed down the hall.

He didn't hesitate. One second he was standing rim-rod straight, feeling utter confusion warp his senses, the next, his instinct took over and he was barreling down the hall toward Susan's voice, his hands clenched in tight fists. He rounded the corner, skidded, tripped, and almost crashed into Edmund, who leapt out of the way at the last second.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, though he half knew the answer all ready.

No one answered. Peter followed their gazes and inhaled a ragged breath. They were standing in front of the coat closet, Susan's hand still locked on the handle. But instead of coats inside, the closet opened up into a large, grassy field. Dandelions swayed in the breeze, and the grass rippled before them. Beyond that, a large forest loomed in the distance.

But that's not what held the Pevensies' attention. Oh, no.

In the middle of the field, crushing the swaying dandelions and rippling grass, was an army. No. Two armies. Fighting. The sounds of swords, shields, maces and battle cries cut through the air. The battle was at its peak–both sides were now converged into one. Blood spewed across the meadow and cannons boomed in the distance. Riders on horseback were egging their animals on, right into the heart of the carnage.

"You know," Edmund said, his voice cracking slightly, "a few years ago this would have seemed really strange to me."

Susan caught Peter's eye and the two older Pevensies shared a knowing look.

"Impossible."

Peter didn't respond. He turned back to the battlefield just in time to see a new wave of riders join the battle. Susan was right; this _was_ impossible. Aslan himself had explained that he and Susan would not be returning to Narnia again. Ever.

And yet…and yet, here they were, the portal to Narnia open and waiting for them. Peter inhaled deeply, trying to figure out what should be their next course of action. He chuckled. How quickly and easily he slipped back into 'Narnian mode'. Already, his brain was thinking up army formations and battle sequences. How badly he wanted to run right through the closet and into the world he dreamed about.

Edmund seemed to have the same idea.

A rider and his horse were brought down by an arrow. The rider managed to jump off the animal right before its body hit the ground. He rolled, sprung up, and a sword and shield suddenly appeared in his hands. With a cry, he flung himself toward the first available man. He and his opponent performed a dance, each trying to gain advantage over the other. His opponent managed to hit the man's shield just right and it spiraled across the grass and towards the closet opening.

Edmund took one look at it and sprang into action. He launched himself across the barrier between the two worlds, rushing the two armies.

"Edmund!" Susan yelled after him.

"Come on!" Edmund screamed back, pausing mid-step.

"Just think about this!" Susan said. "We don't even know who these people are!"

Edmund stared. Then, he turned around and jogged to where the now-dented shield had fallen. Wordlessly, he picked it up and turned it so that the front was facing them.

"Now are you gonna help?" he asked shrewdly.

In the middle of the shield, right where the dent was, a shape was etched into the metal.

A lion's face.

Peter looked at Susan, feeling his adrenaline suddenly spike.

"Impossible," was all she could say.

"Aslan!" Lucy whispered. She bounded forward after Edmund, her hair flying out wildly behind her.

"Lucy!" Susan and Peter bellowed in unison. They looked at each other once more. Peter could see the hesitation, the disbelief in her eyes.

"Come on, Su." And he grabbed her arm, tugging her through the opening before she had the chance to move away.

She didn't put up a fight. In fact, she was like a ragdoll, limp and heavy. The only sign of life Peter received was when she turned back to the opening and pulled the door shut after them. He took that as a good sign.

"Mum can't know," she said quietly.

"Mum can't know," he agreed.

They both ran after their sister. With each step, Peter could feel his emotions rise. They had done it. Somehow, they were back in Narnia. Someone must need their help.

As they neared the two armies, Peter reached down and picked up a fallen sword. Edmund had done the same, still lugging about the shield with Aslan's symbol. Susan had changed directions and ran after Lucy, wishing she had her arrows. As confused as she was about being here, her arrows always filled her with a sense of confidence and faith. To go barging into battle without them felt like a very bad omen indeed. Lucy was the only one who was at ease. The sight of the shield had calmed her as only Aslan could. She did not engage in the fight, but instead allowed her feet to carry her across the meadow to the forest. She ducked several flying arrows, one of which only by a few inches. But nothing could stop her determination.

She needed to speak to the trees.

"Ahhh!" Peter screeched, bringing his newly acquired sword down on the fallen rider's opponent. The rider's helmet blocked his face from view, but he seemed to realize what Peter was doing. Together, they fought, their movements so fluid, it was as though they had practiced side by side for years.

When at last their opponent fell, Peter turned on the rider and gasped, "What's happening?"

The man's eyes, visible only through two slits in his helmet, widened. At the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak, Edmund appeared by his side, sporting a shallow gash in his cheek.

The rider ducked his head out of respect.

"A battle, obviously. I called you forever ago."

Peter and Edmund exchanged a confused look. Around them, the battle raged on, though they scarcely noticed. It was as though time stood still. They watched in wonder as the rider slowly pulled the helmet from his head.

"It's about time you showed up," said Prince Caspian.

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**Author's Note: **

_Subject_: The Chronicles of Narnia

_Rating_: **PG-13** - violence, sensuality, suggestion

_Couples_: Peter/OC, Edmund/OC, Caspian/OC

_Disclaimer_: I have only read the first two books/seen the first two movies. This fic is **AU**. Caspian is the movie version. Everything except the **OCs, Avellas, and Cantricals** belong to their respective owners.


	2. Through the Fire

**2 – Through the Fire**

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Edmund reacted first.

"You!"

Prince Caspian–though when Peter thought about it, he realized it was King Caspian now–looked offended. His eyebrows met in the middle; several worn lines stretched across his forehead. Up close, Peter could see that Caspian was older since they had last seen him. Several years older, if the stubble on his chin was any indication. His gaunt face screwed up.

"You were expecting someone else?" His thick accent, unchanged by time, glazed over every word.

"Well," Edmund said, his eyes flashing to Peter. "Yeah, actually."

"Why?"

Edmund opened his mouth to respond, just as a volley of arrows cascaded down on them. Almost instinctively, they dropped to their knees, using their shields to shelter themselves from the oncoming attack. Peter pulled Caspian under his; remembering Edmund had taken his shield.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation later?" Peter yelled over the sound of arrowheads hitting the metal. It was like thousands of large raindrops, all thundering against the barrier in rapid succession.

"I agree," Caspian replied, grinning slightly. "Like old times, eh?"

"Like old times," Peter agreed.

"I suppose you'll want your shield back?" Edmund asked when the onslaught was over.

Caspian's gaze ran down Edmund and Peter's bodies, and then he shook his head. "No, keep it. I, at least, have armor. You do not." He returned his helmet to his head as he said this.

Peter pushed himself to his feet (Caspian and Edmund did the same) and looked down. He was still wearing the long pants and button-down shirt he had changed into this morning. Hardly the type of clothing that would be effective against swords or daggers. Edmund, who was dressed in a similar fashion, seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Thanks," he said gratefully.

"Duck!" Peter suddenly screamed, pushing Edmund's head down. At the same time, he brought his stolen sword up, parrying the swipe that had been aimed at Edmund's neck. The two weapons–the other was a crude sword, jagged and bumpy, but still dangerous looking–met with a loud _clang_. Peter roughly shoved his brother out of the way, moving forward so he could better engage his opponent.

He froze, stunned. In front of him, piercing blue eyes sized him up then hardened. With surprising force, his enemy's sword rammed him backwards. He stumbled, trying to gain his footing, simultaneously attempting to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

In front of him, knocking and beating against him–and successfully he might add, if not for the embarrassment of it–was a girl. And not just any girl. A young girl. Ten at most. Her long fiery tresses spun in time with her movements, emphasizing the fluidity and confidence she carried herself with. She slashed out at him, displaying no trace of the innocence he had been expecting.

She was young, yes, but she was also a warrior. And an extremely competent one at that. He knew, from the steely determination in her hypnotizing eyes, she would express and accept no mercy. She was fighting for blood.

His blood.

Upon realizing this, Peter changed his fighting style. He put all of his strength behind his attacks. She dodged. He pressed harder. They were evenly matched–his muscles versus her agility. Her tiny frame, skinny and sallow, twisted and bent in almost inhuman ways as she curled out of his line of fire.

But Peter wasn't trying. Not really. He couldn't bring himself to. The familiar roundness of her face stopped him cold–he kept seeing Lucy in her youthful features. Furthermore, she was a girl. And he had long ago been taught never to harm a girl. Even one who was trying to kill him. He had had the same problem with the White Witch.

He couldn't do it.

Luckily, and to his great horror, he didn't have to. He put all of his strength behind his sword and, pressing against hers, managed to slam her back. He couldn't kill her, but he still had to defend himself. She flew through the air, her lack of weight too great to keep her grounded, and was impaled by a flying dagger. It lodged itself into her chest with a deep thump. Right in the heart; a perfect shot.

Peter watched, feeling his stomach convulse. She was an opponent, yes. But in that instant, she shrank back into the small child she was. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just let herself fall, right into the crimson-coated grass. Her eyes started rolling in her head. Peter, without even realizing it, transformed from warrior to older brother.

He flew to her side. Tears sprang into his eyes, surprising him. He had seen countless men–foes and comrades alike–fall in battle. The visions of their pale corpses haunted his dreams more that he had or ever would let on. Their eyes shut, their bodies limp. He had never shed a tear, no matter how bad the loss was.

But this…this was something else entirely. The girl was dying before she even had a chance to live. Her tiny frame shuddered with her last breaths.

Peter reached out and swept her hair out of her eyes. Even though they were glassy, Peter couldn't help but be in awe at how controlling they were. They snapped to his face. A scowl met his concerned babbling.

"Hold on. You'll…you'll be fine. You're ok. Everything's ok," he said hysterically, lying through his teeth. He knew she was a goner.

As did she. The scowl deepened. She didn't answer. At least, not in words. Instead, she spat in his face, smiling maniacally. And that's how she left the world, her face wide in triumph, her body still.

Peter wiped the saliva from his face, feeling his own mouth run dry.

No. NO! He didn't even know her name!

He sat there, so stunned he couldn't will his limbs to move. Her last action caught him by surprise. Never had an opponent–man, woman, witch, anything–ever displayed such cruelty. His eyes roamed the girl's body, and he couldn't help but shudder. So small, yet, from the way she acted, so much hate.

It didn't make any sense.

But he couldn't dwell upon her fate, and frankly, he didn't want to. He already knew her face would join the others, plaguing his sight for the rest of his life.

Out of respect, Peter pulled the dagger from her tiny chest, almost losing his lunch at the sick, sucking sound that accompanied it. He tossed the dagger carelessly over his shoulder, not bothering to see where it would land. Gently, he closed the girl's eyes and placed her hands over her abdomen. It looked like she was sleeping.

Minus the blood seeping through her thin clothing, anyway.

Peter took one final look at her childish face, wiped the tears from his eyes and staggered to his feet. Distantly, he could hear the sound of the battle still raging on. His brain reminded him of his siblings. And Caspian. They needed him. It was this thought that allowed him to focus. He quickly surveyed the battlefield, feeling his spirits lift just slightly.

They were winning. Caspian's army–or was it Aslan's?–advanced on their foe with wide strides. As they did so, Peter felt a chill run up his spine. The opposing army was not what he had been expecting. Each person, the men, the women, the children–Peter cringed as a boy no older than seven was beheaded–had the same distinct look as the girl he had fought. Pale cheeks; wild, tangled hair; striking, almost glowing blue eyes; thin bodies that looked extremely mal-nourished. The sight wasn't a pretty one. Especially the children, who fought with more cruelty and anger than the adults did.

Peter felt his lunch give another lurch and threaten to become visible again. This was all too much. His eyes scanned the ground, hoping that he wouldn't come upon one of his dying family members. That would have sent him over the edge.

"Peter!"

He whirled around, feeling relief course through his veins. Susan and Lucy were safe. They were standing at the edge of the meadow, the trees bordering it towering over them. Lucy was waving her hands wildly in the air, trying to get his attention.

"Get Edmund!" she cried, pointing toward the bloodbath.

Peter flung himself back around just in time to see Edmund get tackled. His attacker was huge; his arms were bigger than Peter's waist. Without thinking, Peter barreled toward them, feeling his worst fear coming true. The man didn't have a sword, but that didn't stop him. He put his muscles to good use, pummeling Edmund into the ground. Edmund was cursing, something that were it any other moment Peter would have chastised him for.

But not now. Oh, no. Peter's mind was only on the man and how he would bring him down.

He pumped his legs, feeling the strain on muscles he hadn't used this vigorously in months. But that didn't stop him. He pushed through the pain and, when he was close enough, rammed his sword through the man's body. He withdrew it after a second, shoving the colossal warrior aside. He fell to the ground with a thud that made the trees quiver.

Peter didn't look twice at him. He had gathered his brother up in his arms, and was surveying him with a critical eye.

Edmund didn't seem too pleased that Peter had saved him. He rolled his eyes, wincing slightly, and tried to wipe the blood from his face. He didn't even know if it was his. His whole body throbbed painfully, and his wrist felt oddly limp. But he wasn't about to let Peter know that.

"Gerroff!" he sputtered, trying to pry Peter off of him with his good arm.

Peter exhaled roughly, his eyes narrowing. The entire left side of Edmund's face was covered in red liquid, which looked like it would never stop weeping. Already, nasty green and yellow bruises were appearing across his arms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. Peter was sure there would be more under his clothing. He needed medical attention.

"Get out of here," Peter commanded, pulling Edmund to his feet and grabbing his sword. Edmund swayed dangerously.

"'m fine," he said, just as his right leg gave out beneath him. It didn't feel broken, but certainly bruised.

Peter lost it. "For once, do as you're told! Before I have to drag your lifeless corpse off of the field!" He immediately wished he had chosen better words; the face of the dead girl swam into his vision. Without waiting for a reply, Peter snapped back to reality and lugged Edmund away from the fight, being careful of his wrist and leg. When they arrived on the opposite side of the meadow, Susan let out a low gasp and ran forward to help her brother.

"Take care of him," Peter said roughly, laying Edmund down on the forest floor. "I need to help out."

He bounded back into the action, trying to forget all of the blood on Edmund's face. He needed to concentrate. Susan would care for him. He'd be fine. But then of course Peter remembered that's exactly what he had said to the girl. And she was dead.

_Stop it!_ he thought. _Pay attention!_

He pulled himself back. Sword raised, he cut through the first line of defenses, trying to ignore the _thump_, _thump_, _thump_ that followed him as each body hit the ground. What was strange, he realized, was that no one screamed. No one. Not the children, not the women. They all took their deaths so calmly, so easily.

It unnerved him.

But he had a job to do. Caspian needed him. Aslan needed him. Whoever they were fighting, there had to be a good reason. Aslan would have stopped them if there wasn't. It was this thought that drove him forward, through the fire. Because if he couldn't trust Aslan, he couldn't trust anyone.

He hacked through the enemy's lines, following his brothers in arms, who quickly realized he was on their side. As each person fell at his sword, he felt a lump grow in his chest.

The nightmares of faces would only get worse.

OOOOO

"Stop rubbing!"

"Oh, hold still!"

"Ouch! That hurts!"

"Ed," Peter said, massaging his shoulder gingerly, "Quit being such a baby."

"Easy for you to say!" Edmund retorted, scooting back to get out of Susan's grasp. "You didn't get your face ripped apart."

Peter didn't push it. Edmund had a point, after all. Where Peter had miraculously sustained very few bruises during the battle, Edmund had received enough that his entire body looked like ripening fruit-green and yellow tie-dyed into a very nasty looking pattern across his skin. The left side of his face was swollen, puffy, and raw.

The battle didn't last much longer after Peter had returned to the congregation. Together, he, Caspian, and the rest of Aslan's army had managed to slay the last of the pale people. It was a scene to make anyone sick. Bodies were strewn across the field, sometimes on top of each other, one person's blood mixing with another. The grass was at least an inch high in the red stuff. The smell was terrible.

Peter had finally lost his lunch. As he gazed out across the carnage, his eyes fell upon several children, many of whom were less than ten years old. Their small bodies, bloodied and motionless, had pushed his self-control over the edge. He had gotten sick, then and there.

It wasn't a pleasant experience leaving. Edmund could barely walk, Lucy and Susan had turned hysterical, Peter was withdrawn and silent, desperately trying to keep what little he had in his stomach down and what little sanity he had left inside–it didn't feel much like a victory.

With the door shut, the Pevensies had no way to return home. At least, none that they knew of. Caspian had offered his home for them immediately. They didn't have a choice, so they accepted. The long trudge back to the castle felt longer thanks to the moans and groans of the wounded. There weren't many–the pale people were ruthless and killed most–but there was enough to coat the air in blood, sweat, and agony.

Upon arriving at Caspian's home, Edmund had promptly passed out, fatigue and pain making it impossible to stay awake. Of course this sent Susan into another round of hysterics. She had started crying uncontrollably, mumbling through her tears how she hated Narnia and had never wanted to come back in the first place.

Suffice to say, it got a lot better when Edmund came to. His wrist was sprained, and his leg was sore. Thankfully, nothing was broken.

Since then, Susan had calmed down and proceeded to tend to Edmund's wounds, much to his discomfort.

"Oh, stop wiggling!" She pressed a damp cloth to the left side of his face, patting it as gently as she could, which, given how out of control she was, made Edmund feel like he was being beaten all over again.

"Stop! Stop! That hurts!"

Peter watched with heavy eyes, leaning against the pillar awkwardly. Guilt was spreading through his body like a poison. He couldn't even protect his own family. Less than twenty-four hours in Narnia and all ready his brother was injured. His heart thundered in his chest, wild and fast.

Some older brother he was.

Across from him, Lucy was sitting at a table, her eyes red. She was trying very hard not to cry. Where had Aslan been? He never let it get this bad. Never. When Edmund had almost died before, when Lucy had been attacked in the woods–he always came. But not this time. This time, her brother had been hurt.

And she couldn't understand why.

"Well, if you hold still it wouldn't hurt so much!" Susan was determined to make Edmund feel better.

"Let go of–OUCH! Quit it!"

"Su," Peter said lightly, taking pity on Edmund. "Just…leave him alone. He's ok. You're just making it worse."

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. Susan dropped the cloth and stood up to her full height, facing Peter. Though he would never admit it, at that point, Susan did scare him a little. Her face was contorted into an expression of rage and anxiousness. Her body shook from head to toe.

"Ok. OK! He's not ok! Look at him! He nearly was killed! Oh, I knew this was a bad idea coming here. We should have just closed the door when we had the chance. Then we'd all be home with Mum, enjoying our presents and Christmas dinner instead of sulking, _injured_ in a castle that we shouldn't be in! I'm so tired of it! I don't believe in any of this anymore! I don't!"

"What do you mean?" Lucy's small voice came, no louder than a whisper. "How can you not believe?"

That shut Susan up. She stopped, realizing what she had just said.

"Lucy, I didn't…I mean, I really wasn't…" Susan struggled with the words. More than anything else, Lucy believed in Narnia. And Aslan. And the look on her face–the horror at what Susan declared–hit hard. Susan faltered, trying to think up something quick.

Luckily, the doors to the room they were in opened and Caspian strode in. His right arm was bandaged heavily–the result of an unexpected side attack. Edmund felt guilty at this. If he had just given Caspian back his shield…

Peter straightened, prying himself off the pillar. Truthfully, he felt grateful that Caspian had arrived when he did. The tension in the room was beginning to become unbearable.

"How are you feeling?" Caspian asked Edmund.

Edmund's face flushed, making the bruised side look, if possible, even more inflamed. He hated everyone's concern. It made him feel like a little kid. However, as he glanced at Caspian's bandage, he remembered that Caspian wouldn't be injured if it weren't for him. That got him.

"Fine," Edmund replied, doing his best to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Caspian didn't give away that he heard it. Instead, he turned to Peter and said, "Now would be a good time to talk."

Peter nodded. "Yes. We'd like some answers."

"Who are those people?" Lucy butted in.

"Those people," Caspian hissed, his eyes turning dark, "are murderers. Thieving bandits. The lowest possible thing out there."

He sighed, rubbing his temples gingerly. In the glow of the lighted torches and setting sun, he looked about fifty. Peter wondered what could have possibly made him age so quickly. Caspian lifted his gaze and motioned toward the table Lucy was sitting at.

"You may want to sit down. This is a long story."

Peter moved first, taking his seat across from his youngest sibling. Edmund scrambled to his side, throwing dirty looks at Susan, who stayed where she was, defensive and hostile.

Caspian drew a chair from the side of the room, sat down, and sighed once more.

"Those people," he said, "are the Cantricals."


	3. Changes with Time

**3 – Changes with Time**

* * *

"What are the -"

"Ed, shut it," Peter said, nudging his brother lightly. He wanted to hear what Caspian had to say.

Caspian didn't respond right away. He inhaled slowly, his eyes flashing to the nearest window. It was as though he was trying to figure out how to start.

"These Cantricals…they are unlike anything I have ever seen." His voice was harsh, but curious. "They fight like a pack of ravenous wolves. Every aspect of their lives, of their being derives from one word: Me. They care not for each other. The parents beat and torture their children from birth, and the children grow up looking out for only themselves. They live on one principle only: Survival. And yet, when they do die, it is like they do not even care. They are like the living dead. They care for nothing, yet are jealous of everything they do not have. Their envy is the only thing that binds them together."

Caspian stood up from the chair and began pacing, his long strides pounding against the castle floor. For perhaps two minutes he did not speak.

Finally, he continued, "They arrived here five years ago. I know not-"

"Wait," Edmund interrupted for a second time. "How long–OUCH."

"Be quiet!" Peter hissed, pinching Edmund in the side, momentarily forgetting that his brother was bruised.

"But I just want to know how long it's been since we were las–hey, stop it!"

Peter rolled his eyes and stood up, rounded the enormous table and seated himself next to Lucy, whose eyes had gone very wide.

Caspian went on as though he had never stopped. "They arrived here five years ago. I know not where they come from, just that they arrived at a time when Narnia was entering its second Golden Age." A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"And it has been fifteen years since you last graced Narnia with your presence, King Edmund."

Edmund let out a low breath. Fifteen years. It had only been six months for them. He would never understand Narnian time zones.

"Well," he said lightly, "at least it wasn't thirteen-hundred years…"

Prince Caspian chuckled, the first sign of joy and life they had seen since arriving.

"Yes, for Narnia's sake, I am happy that you came when you did. I was not sure if the horn would work…"

For a moment, his eyes flashed to Susan, who bit her lip angrily. Her eyes turned cold, and she crossed her arms, clearly signaling she wasn't about to answer him. Caspian's smile faltered and he turned back to the other three Pevensies.

"Anyway, as I was saying, Narnia was just entering its second Golden Age. Peace was finally returning to the land, and the last of Miraz's followers were being…eh, disposed of. It was a joyous time. One we had worked toward for many years.

"And then, _they_ came." Caspian's hands clenched into fists. The Pevensies needed no explanation for who _they_ were. "They cut through our shores like a plague, destroying everything in their path. I tried to reason with them, to understand why they were here. But they never answered me directly. Instead, they set fire to our towns, killed some of my dearest friends and most trusted allies. They took no prisoners, satisfied with thousands of corpses."

Caspian exhaled roughly, and turned to Peter, his eyes blazing. Though the two had had a rough start, Caspian trusted and respected Peter, and vice-versa. They had saved Narnia together before, and, as their eyes met, Peter realized that Caspian was silently asking him to do it again.

Peter ventured a question, ignoring Edmund's open looks of hypercriticism.

"What do they want?"

Caspian shook his head, even before the words were out of Peter's mouth. "I do not know for certain. I have never been able to thoroughly question one. I was usually too busy fighting for my life and the lives of my people."

"Best guess?"

"I believe," he said delicately, as though they were discussing a food recipe instead of a war, "they want Narnia to fall. Like I said, they are jealous people. They strike down any who have more than they. They thrive on disorder and chaos. From what I have gathered, they have lived in disharmony for a long time, and know nothing else."

Lucy stirred at this, voicing what they all were thinking.

"Where's Aslan?"

Caspian sat down again, running a hand through his unruly hair. It was tangled and messy, as though he hadn't brushed it in a long time. Peter could see, as his fingers combed through his raven locks, there were streaks of gray.

"I do not know. I have not seen him since the day you left. He disappeared."

"But that's not uncommon," Peter said, trying to raise Lucy's spirits. He knew she was having a tough time accepting that Aslan may have abandoned them. "I mean, he was gone for one hundred years during the White Witch's reign. Who knows how bad it has to get before he comes…"

Caspian chuckled. "Yes, that is partly the reason I blew the horn. Aslan seems more prone to showing up when you all are in Narnia. I thought bringing you back might coax him back into the open."

Lucy shook her head, sending her hair flying. "No. It doesn't work like that. Aslan comes when he wants to come, when he _needs_ to come. Us being here has nothing to do with it."

Caspian just shrugged. "At the time it seemed like the best option."

"Ok," Peter said slowly, "so we know these people are here and they want us all dead. But how did they get here? How did _we_ get here?" He looked at his siblings, feeling that same sense of confusion and excitement that he had been able to return to Narnia.

"I do not know that either. They appeared one day, coming in huge boats, in numbers far greater than I would have expected. They took my men by surprise. I lost eighty-two soldiers that day." Caspian closed his eyes, as though sending out a silent prayer to the fallen. "As for yourselves, your arrival is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. I knew when I blew the horn that there was a very slim chance you might actually show up. Especially you, Peter, and you, Susan."

Susan stiffened. Peter nodded.

"But, as I mentioned, that was the best option I had. I had to trust that you would return and aid me in my war. I put my faith in that call. And it did not disappoint me. Here you are, sitting before me as though no time has passed."

Peter's mind was traveling several thousand kilometers a minute. He couldn't imagine Caspian putting his faith in something purely based on chance. Peter knew he'd never be able to do that. Yet, as he looked around at his family, he realized that they _were_ here. They had been able to return. All of them. That had to count for something.

"But I am getting ahead of myself," Caspian whispered. He stood up and walked over to Peter, clasping him on the shoulder. "I make assumptions when in reality I need promises. I am asking you, all of you"–his gaze flickered between the four faces that were all watching him in anticipation–"to help me. To help Narnia once more. As a king, I have learned that individual plights are not usually successful. We all need help. And now, I'm asking you for yours. High King Peter, will you please aid me in my quest to rid our home of the Cantricals? To restore peace and prosperity to the land?"

Peter didn't respond at first. He couldn't just agree. He needed to give thought to his decision. Staying meant fighting. Staying meant potentially dying. Staying meant perhaps never going home.

It wasn't a simple 'yes' or 'no'.

He opened his mouth, just as Susan chimed in. She had been quiet for the majority of the conversation, either feeling too proud or too angry to offer her opinions. But now, she couldn't help herself.

"You're not seriously considering this, are you, Peter?" Her hazel eyes watched him, doubted him.

"Well, I -"

"Because if you agree to this, you're mad."

Peter's mood darkened. He had been questioning his sanity for some time, trying to figure out if all the battles, all the people he saw in his nightmares existed, or if he truly was losing his mind. He certainly felt that way. But to have his sister, who was mad in her own way, insult him…he couldn't take it.

"I can't," he said, "speak for my brother and sisters. But you have my word, as High King, that I will follow you, lead you, and aid you in your fight against these people."

He half made the promise out of spite–he was so tired of Susan badgering him, complaining, crying. He would send Lucy and Edmund home if he had to. But the appeal of staying, of living that which he thought was impossible, was too much for him to handle. He couldn't turn the opportunity down.

Caspian smiled, giving Peter's shoulder a squeeze. "Thank you, my friend."

"You're not sending me home." Edmund raised an eyebrow, clearly stating that he had followed Peter's trail of thought. "I'm older now. And I'll decide for myself. I'm staying. I want to help."

"Me, too!" Lucy said shrilly. "Narnia needs us." She glanced at Susan. "All _four_ of us. Just like before. We make up one person, together."

Peter was surprised. Lucy's knowledge and wisdom, her undying faith–it never ceased to amaze him that one so young could be so in tune with her surroundings. He realized that that's why she always knew when Aslan was around–she could sense him because she believed in him more than anyone else.

"Peter." She gazed up at him with shining eyes. "I'm staying."

Peter pretended to laugh. "Of course you are. You didn't think I was going to fly into battle without my lucky charm, did you?" It was true–everything seemed easier with Lucy around. She was his favorite sibling, the one he would protect above all others. She smiled at him, pleased.

"Well, I think you all have gone off the deep end!" Susan said, shaking her head. "We are not meant to be here. At least, I'm not. And I will not take part in a war that's not my own…"

With that, she turned on her heels and strode out the door, letting it bang shut behind her. They all watched her go. Peter felt guilt settle in his chest; Caspian wore a look that couldn't be described. It was almost thoughtful…but also disappointed, angry, sad, hopeful, and curious.

He turned back to Peter, and attempted to smile. "Thank you so much," he said once more. He didn't remark on Susan's departure.

Peter remained silent. He hoped he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

OOOOO

"You should go to bed, Lu."

Lucy sniffled and shook her head. She had been crying, that much was certain. Her eyes, red and puffy, avoided his gaze, instead scouring the courtyard.

Peter knew what she was looking for.

Ever since the conversation they had had with Caspian several hours earlier, Lucy had been distant. Before Peter had been able to comfort her however, the servants of the castle had whisked her away (though not before she gave Edmund a drop from her cordial). Peter and Edmund, likewise, had been shown to their rooms, allowed to bathe (which for Peter, who was drenched in sweat, and Edmund, who was still covered in blood) had been remarkable. Caspian had provided them with fresh clothes, and declared that his castle was theirs to roam as they pleased.

Peter had spent several hours getting lost in its hallways, looking for his youngest sister. He knew she was shaken, and scared. She had to be. After all, Peter was terrified. Being the oldest, he had to be the bravest…if his fear was that bad, he couldn't imagine how the rest of them were handling it.

He had found her on one of the balconies, crying.

"I just," Lucy said finally, cupping the side of her face with her palm, "don't understand. Aslan…should be here."

Peter inhaled slowly, feeling his shoulders tense up. He had to be delicate about this. Lucy, above all else, believed in the power of the Great Lion. It wouldn't help matters if he made her feel worse, or frightened her even more than she already was.

He put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"It'll be ok, Lucy. He'll come…"

"But, what if he doesn't? What if…" Her voice cracked, and she turned her head away.

In that instant, Peter realized that it was even worse than he had been expecting. Lucy's faith was wavering, obviously shaken by Edmund's injuries. She was hesitating. Doubting Aslan. Growing up.

Peter bit his lip, running a hand through his hair. Then, slowly, he pulled her into his arms and embraced her. She was short–her head buried into his waist awkwardly. But he didn't care. The love and care he felt for her was too much. The 'older brother' instinct was once again rearing its powerful head.

He patted her back, saying, "It's ok, Lucy. He's never given up on us before. And he certainly won't now."

"But how do you know?" Lucy asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Peter wasn't usually one for showing emotions. He had learned, ironically enough, in battle, that emotions were dangerous. Emotions could be used against you. Emotions could be manipulated and thrown back in your face.

It caught Lucy by surprise when he kissed her gently on the forehead.

"I just know, ok? Have I ever lied to you?"

"No."

"Have I ever let you down?"

"No."

"Have I ever given up?"

"Well, there was that one time -"

"_Lucy_."

"Ok, fine. No."

He smiled, hugging her to him once more.

"Then trust me on this. Aslan will come. Ok?"

Lucy nodded, and Peter brushed the falling tears from her cheeks. He wished he could send her home. He knew how Narnia changed people. Heck, he wasn't the same person he had been before coming into the wardrobe. Neither was Lucy. But how he wished he could send her home and spare her this. He didn't want her to grow up. Much like Mrs. Pevensie, he hated seeing the loss of innocence, the maturity that had been forced down Lucy's throat.

He wanted her to be safe and happy.

But, he knew, from the look in her eyes, she would never go home. Not when Narnia was in trouble. It seemed to be in Lucy's bloodline to protect Narnia and its inhabitants. It was part of who she was.

"Lucy, please go get some sleep…"

She sighed, nodding again. Silently, she walked past him. He watched her go, his chest heavy. Right before she turned the corner and disappeared from view, she turned back to Peter and smiled.

"Thank you."

And then she was gone.

Peter stared at the space she had been standing for a good five minutes after she left. Then he turned back out to the courtyard, trying very hard to rein his emotions back in. The night air felt oddly good against his face, as though it were cleansing battle wounds that didn't exist.

Oh, but they did. Perhaps not physically. But definitely emotionally. Even now, he could feel it. That feeling of old-age and sadness creeping up on him.

He hated it.

Yet, it felt so right. So natural for him. Like he was born to do this. To lead. To fight.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said quietly to no one in particular. But, as he looked out into the starry night, he realized he had been speaking to Aslan.

And more importantly, to himself.


	4. Of HeartBreaking Surprises

**4 – Of Heartbreaking Surprises**

* * *

Peter's eyes spun in his head. He had a feeling he had missed something.

"Wha-?" he said intelligently, fighting a yawn.

Caspian chuckled quietly. He grabbed a hold of Peter's shoulder and steered him toward the nearest chair. For once, Peter didn't mind the extra help. The world around him was blurry and shaky. He couldn't really see where he was going. Suddenly, he realized he was sitting.

"I asked," Caspian repeated for the third time, "if you slept well last night. I think I am safe in saying you did not. Was your room not to your liking?"

Peter put his elbows on the table, and rubbed his eyes. If his mother saw him now... She would have had a fit. He cleared his throat and blinked twice, allowing the room to swim into focus.

"No. It was fine. Just…had a lot on my mind."

"Is it…er, anything you wish to talk about?" Caspian went on, awkwardly. Though he and Peter got along for the most part, they weren't close friends. They had never shared deep or thoughtful conversations. Neither knew much of the other's family history. Their relationship was purely business; tactical. As such, Caspian's question came more out of expected conversation than true curiosity.

Peter shook his head, thinking along the same lines. He didn't really feel like exposing his personal woes and worries to someone he, even after fighting side by side several times with, didn't know very well. Besides, his siblings were in the room, all watching him through curious eyes.

"No, but thank you…"

Caspian nodded, hiding the relief he felt well.

"I thought today we might discuss some strategies." He bowed his head slightly, almost apologetically. "These Cantricals…they are quick. Their attacks come without notice. It is best we have a defense ready for when they do. The sooner, the better."

Peter just nodded, withholding a groan. He had been up half the night, tossing and turning in bed. Images of the dead had plagued his thoughts, making sleep impossible. He kept seeing her. The little girl, dying. Again and again. Eventually, he had given up on sleep and crawled out of his room and onto his personal balcony. And that's where he had been for the remainder of the night. He had tried to count the stars, but to no avail. He had given up on that too.

To put it simply, he was exhausted. And the last thing he wanted to do was spend the next couple of hours creating plans for an upcoming attack they had no way of preparing for.

But he was Peter, the High King. He was expected to put aside all personal problems and spring into action at any time. He had an image he could not afford to lose.

"Excellent," Caspian said, taking a bite of a piece of fruit that Peter couldn't identify. It was large, round, and yellow, with red dots that coated the surface.

"Before we do this, however, may I ask if I can use your grounds to practice with my sword?" Peter managed a weak smile. "Yesterday reminded me that I haven't used it in a while."

"Of course. I have a special training Pit at the back end of the castle on the south side. My own private spot. You may use it whenever you please."

"Thank you."

The room fell silent. Peter, whose eyelids kept falling shut, had to force all of his energy on remaining upright. Lucy and Edmund were eating, and watching their eldest brother with wary eyes. Susan was also eating, but she kept her gaze down on the table, not daring to say a word. Only Caspian seemed to register just how uptight the room was.

Luckily, two minutes later, the door to the dining hall opened and a woman walked in. She moved quickly, but had softness about her. Dark, curly tresses framed her heart-shaped face, and deep, knowing, black eyes looked up through long lashes. Her stomach extended further than it should, revealing that she was several months pregnant. She was dressed in a gown of light-green, which swayed as she approached Caspian.

She was beautiful in every sense of the word. Edmund's eyes were the size of dinner plates.

A smiled flitted across her lips, brightening the room considerably. Once next to Caspian, she bent over and kissed him gently on the forehead. Caspian grinned in response, grabbing her hand as she stood erect.

"Are you going to introduce me to our guests?" she cooed, her voice higher than one would expect.

"Of course." Caspian looked out at the four Pevensie children. All of them had their eyes locked on the tall, statuette woman. "This is High King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy."

The woman's eyes flashed. "The Kings and Queens of Old?"

"Yes," Caspian answered. "Everyone, this is Maria. My wife."

Silence met this proclamation. Susan's eyes suddenly dashed down to her plate, her cheeks reddening. The other Pevensies exchanged looks. They certainly hadn't expected this.

Peter, upon realizing that they were all acting quite rude, hurriedly got to his feet and bowed his head to Maria. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness." Normally Peter wouldn't have added the title, but he felt in this instance it was necessary to act as though his world hadn't just been rocked.

"Maria," the queen immediately corrected him. "Nothing formal, please. I'd like us to all be friends."

"Maria it is, then," Peter amended.

He seated himself, and Lucy and Edmund got the message.

"Nice to meet you," Edmund said, his face still wide in wonder.

"I'll be your friend!" Lucy said excitedly.

Maria chuckled. "Wonderful!"

Her gaze turned to Susan, who looked up. Everyone was staring at her, waiting. She avoided Caspian's eyes.

"Yes," Susan said, clearing her throat. "It is lovely to meet you…" She stood up, but didn't curtsy. "If you'll excuse me, I just remembered I left something in my room." And without waiting for a response, she sped out the door, trying to keep from tripping. It clanged shut behind her.

Maria, Caspian, and the three remaining Pevensies watched her go. Caspian wore a complicated look. His eyes were intense, and dark. Maria just looked confused. She sat down next to Caspian, just as a horde of servants appeared out of nowhere. They filled her plate high with food, then disappeared as suddenly as they had come.

Maria took her goblet and took a long sip of the tangy juice.

"So, Peter," she said, causing him to turn back to her, "I hear you have accepted Caspian's request to stay?"

Peter nodded. "Yes." Then, seeing the look on Caspian's face, he continued, "I couldn't say no. I will always be here when Narnia needs me."

She giggled girlishly. "So brave. You certainly live up to the legends told of you, King Peter."

"Just Peter," he countered, grimacing inside. He didn't want to know what people were saying of him. If anything, Peter was modest. A little too forceful with his ideas maybe, but modest all the same. He shied away from compliments and praise. In his eyes, they were worthless. All that came of such remarks was a big head. Something he couldn't afford to have.

"Well, _just_ Peter, I hope you find your stay here enjoyable. Even in such a terrible time, we like our guests to be comfortable."

"Thank you. I do like it here." Peter felt his insides grow hot. He needed to escape. Now. Maria was nice, pleasant even. But she made him feel like he was suffocating. And he couldn't understand why.

He ate the last of his food, drank the tiny puddle in his goblet, then swiftly stood up.

"I'm afraid I cannot stay," he explained to Maria's once again confused expression. "I must have time to practice before I am expected to march into battle. We can't waste a second."

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course. It was a pleasure meeting you, Peter."

"And you," Peter said, striding out of the room. It was wrong to leave his younger siblings, he knew. But he couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't. As he walked down the hall, heading for the south side of the castle, where Caspian had told him the Pit would be, he heard a quiet sniffle. He stopped. Another sniffle.

Thoroughly curious now, he turned on his heels and began to walk down a side hallway. With each step, the sniffling grew louder. Finally, he turned a second corner and came face to face–

-with Susan.

She bounded to her feet upon seeing him, and flung herself around so that she was looking at the wall–though not quite fast enough because Peter caught a glimpse of the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. He swallowed hard. Tears were not something he was good with. First Lucy and now Susan…

But she was obviously in pain, and despite that he knew she wouldn't want him to try to help, he found himself reaching out to her. He took both of her shoulders and gently moved her so that she was facing him.

"Susan, what's wrong?"

A tear ran down her cheek. Peter brushed it away.

It surprised him when she actually answered.

"I should have known. It was stupid of me to think that he would actually wait for me. That when we came back…"

In that instant, Peter knew he was in over his head. He had never courted anyone before. Oh, sure, plenty of women–not just in Narnia, in Finchley as well–had expressed interest. Some of them were beautiful, others witty, still others charming. More than once, he noted that they would all make wonderful future spouses; a perfect match. But he was king. And kings could not afford to lose their heads. Ultimately, he knew it would distract him. So he had shut the women out, closing the door to his heart. He had never even attempted to become close to someone.

What in Narnia was he going to say?

"Susan," he started slowly. "It's…I mean, it's ok. Caspian…Aslan said we wouldn't be coming back. He, uh, probably thought you truly were leaving for good."

"But he said he would wait for me…" Another wave of tears crashed down her cheeks.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how he should best approach this.

"Well, yes. But if Aslan said you weren't coming back…I mean, you can't blame him for moving on. If he had no way of knowing."

This was the _wrong_ way to approach it.

"UGH!" Susan exploded, her face going very red. "Forget it, Peter. You don't understand. Just leave me alone!" She stomped away, leaving Peter in the middle of the hallway, with a dazed expression.

His face twitched up in annoyance. "Women," he muttered, stalking forward to the south wall. _And this,_ he thought, _is why I'm better off staying away from them._

He didn't meet anyone else, and was very grateful for it. He would have lost it otherwise. When he at last walked into the Pit, he was actually starting to feel better. As he looked around, he suddenly felt very insignificant.

The Pit was huge, and fit its namesake. It was, literally, a hole in the ground. Random trees dotted the landscape. Comprised of mostly dirt, it spread out for about a mile, just waiting to be engaged. He could practice to his heart's content here.

He pulled his sword from his waist. After returning to Caspian's castle the previous day, Caspian had returned the Pevensies' weapons to them, insisting that no one but he had touched them. Peter had since kept it on him, afraid that he would be called to battle at any moment. He had to be ready.

Already, Peter could feel the power of the sword within him. During the fight with the little girl, he had been using a sword that was not his own. The difference was amazing. Whereas that sword had been heavy and bulky, his sword felt light and moveable. He could bring it up, and then slash it down with the gentlest touch. It was like an extension of his arm, really. It was a part of him. And it felt good. All traces of sleepiness vanished from within him.

Peter rapidly began spinning about, performing every complicated maneuver he could. At first, it was awkward. He hadn't practice like this in a long time. His limbs were just a tad on the rusty side. But soon he moved and sprang as though no time had passed. As he wildly jumped around, sweat dripped down his brow. But he didn't care. In his mind, he was fighting a thousand men, all with one dark purpose in mind: Kill the king, take over Narnia.

He grunted in time with his imaginary blows, loving the exertion in his arms and legs. Peter's body was one that thrived on strength and power. It loved being pushed to breaking points–much like Peter's mind. The sword grazed the side of the Pit's walls, sending rock and dirt spraying in all directions. The lion's emblem on the hilt of the sword glittered in the early morning light. It filled Peter with a renewed sense of vigor.

He practiced for over two hours, not even realizing that time was flying by him. When at last he collapsed onto the Pit's floor, he face shone with sweat, and a large smile spread across his face. He lay down against the dirt bottom, breathing hard. It had been right of him to practice. If he were needed to fight now, he knew he could.

Actually, it felt quite nice to just lie there in the sun. He closed his eyes, letting its rays wash over him. The knot in his back slowly uncoiled. After two minutes, he was out cold. And this time, dreams didn't come. Just blessed sleep.

Peter woke up, feeling groggy. He felt like he had been rested for two seconds. Yet, above him, the sun had moved to the center of the sky. A young boy was hurriedly shaking him, shouting, "Your Highness! Please, wake up! King Caspian needs you!"

Peter groaned and bounded to his feet. He immediately wished he hadn't because his head swirled in an uncomfortable rush.

"What's going on?" he stammered to the boy.

"King Caspian needs you in the stables right away! Quick, we must hurry!"

Peter staggered forward, waiting for his brain to catch up with the rest of him. It took a second, but at last the boy's words seemed to register. Caspian needed him.

"Lead the way," Peter said, waving his hand, gesturing for the boy to take him to the stables. His other hand flew to his side, making sure that his sword was there.

"Yes, sir!"

The boy suddenly sprinted forward. Peter just watched, surprised. Then he remembered that should be following him.

Oops.

With a huff, Peter ran after him, feeling stupid. He needed to get his thoughts together. If there was trouble… Eventually, he managed to catch up to the boy. The pair continued through the halls. Peter tried to memorize the route, but soon, the corners all started looking alike. The stable had to have been in the opposite corner of the castle, for it took several minutes to get there. The boy led Peter outside, where at last, the stable came into sight. Peter skidded, trying to slow down before he hit the side of it. The wood, he felt sure, would not be a pleasant thing to run in to. He entered it a second later. The boy who had shown him the way left.

Inside, Caspian and Edmund were talking in low voices, saddling two horses. A third stood off the side, all ready fitted to go.

Caspian noticed Peter first. He nodded at Edmund, turned to the eldest Pevensie, and said, "How was your training session?"

Peter almost laughed. Almost. This was hardly the time to exchange pleasantries. Caspian would only call him like this if something was wrong.

"Wonderful," Peter muttered. He gazed at the third horse. It was strong, with a beautiful chocolate-brown coat. "Is that one for me?"

Caspian nodded solemnly. "We knew you wouldn't have time to get ready…"

"For what?"

"The Cantricals have attacked."

Peter suddenly felt very grateful he had practiced.


	5. Ambushing Made Easy

**5 – Ambushing Made Easy**

_

* * *

_

_Clip-clop. Clip-clop. Clip-clop._

The horse's movements beat in time with Peter's heart. He, Caspian, and Edmund were riding in a single-file line–Caspian in front, Peter in the middle, and Edmund bringing up the rear. Behind them, a dozen or so soldiers followed. The town flew by. Peter noticed, as they made their way to the northeastern part of the village, that unlike his previous visit to Narnia, when the streets had been alive with vendors and shoppers alike, the mood was dark and somber.

Dead, even.

The windows were all boarded up and the streets were desolate. Empty. Also, it was quiet. Spooky quiet. Like riding through a ghost town. The usual peals of laughter, wives chastising their husbands, children screaming in joy as they chased each other–it was all gone.

"They are all afraid of being attacked," Caspian called over his shoulder when Peter commented on it. "They choose to remain in the safety of their homes, and only venture out at their greatest need."

Peter didn't like it. And, to be honest, he didn't understand it. How could one army force an entire kingdom into hiding? Were the Cantricals really so terrifying that the people refused to go about their daily routines?

Peter _really_ didn't like it.

"What–exactly–are we riding into?" he yelled at Caspian. He felt like he was riding into battle blind.

Caspian didn't answer at first. He pulled on the reins of his horse, slowing it down just enough so that he could ride alongside Peter.

"There was an ambush. The Cantricals set fire to the Pine–the Pine is a section of the village–and the whole place went up in smoke. As far as I know, the men managed to get the flames down some. But the damage has already been done. Twenty-two people dead. Most of them children. I know not if their deaths were the result of being caught in the fire, or inhalation of smoke. But it does not matter. Death is death."

Peter was silent. A part of him was shocked at the loss of life. The words _most of them children_ kept him at a loss for words. The other part of him–the reckless, rebellious side–was angry. Angry at Caspian for not better protecting Narnia. Angry at himself for sleeping while innocent people were being slaughtered. But mostly angry at the Cantricals for thrusting Narnia back into chaos. Was a little peace really so much to ask?

Up ahead, the northeastern corner of the village–the Pine–came into view. At the same moment his eyes caught sight of the scorched landscape, the smell hit him. Burning. It lapped over him in waves, stinking of charred, blackened, and rotting bodies. Peter's eyes watered, but he did not shut them. He couldn't. The scene unfolding around him was complete insanity.

The fire had hit the village, and hit it hard. Everything-the roads, the houses, even some of the people-were coated in a shiny black layer. Smoke curled through the air. Babies cried. Women sobbed in agony and tended to the wounded. Men were rushing about in every direction, shouting orders at one another.

Caspian led them through the blackened remains and into, what Peter believed to be, the main square. Or, at least, what was left of it. The square was empty, save for a man covered in ash, sitting just off the main road. He had something clutched to his chest and was singing softly. The congregation approached slowly. As they got closer, Peter realized it was a woman the man held. He had his arms around her head, and was rocking her gently, back and forth. He looked up when the train of riders stopped in front of him, but didn't stop his movements.

"Your Majesties," he murmured, dipping his head toward Caspian, Peter, and Edmund in turn.

"What happened here?" Edmund asked, having not been a part of Peter and Caspian's earlier conversation.

"They attacked," the man croaked, his voice deep and drenched in sadness. "We had no warning, heard no whisper. We weren't ready. They cut through the town, destroying everything in their path. They set fire to the houses, killed all who tried to oppose them. The fire spread quickly. My wife," he looked down at the person in his arms, "my darling wife. She didn't make it. Suffocated. My darling, darling wife."

The man gave a great shuddering gasp, tears streaming down his cheeks. He kissed the woman on both cheeks, then quietly began singing again. His voice was so low, Peter couldn't decipher the words.

"Which way did they go?" Caspian inquired, his eyes hard. The man didn't answer. He just kept singing, a sad, mournful tune that ate away at Peter's heart.

Caspian's body was stiff as a board. His mouth had been drawn into a straight, tight line, and his knuckles were white. He whispered a quiet apology and then walked away. On a side road that led to the main square, a young woman desperately tried to quiet the screaming infant in her arms. Her face was grimy and distraught. Her eyes widened as Caspian approached her. His lips moved, and she answered, rocking the baby like the man had rocked his wife. There was no doubt Caspian was hearing a similar story to the one they had just been told.

Edmund and Peter stared at one another, sharing a wordless conversation. All the while, the man's singing floated over them. Peter could hear screaming in the distance; sorrowful wails by anguished loved ones.

After a few minutes, Caspian returned, wearing a somber expression.

"They fled north, into the woods," he said, pointing over their heads. "The woman I spoke with said they disappeared less than thirty minutes ago, which means -"

"Which means we might be able to catch them," Peter interrupted, following Caspian's train of thought.

"Exactly."

Peter scrambled for his horse, feeling blood pump through his brain. All ready, he was thinking up ways of tricking the enemy, luring them into traps. The forest would offer some protection, some coverage. When he was aloft in the saddle, Peter jammed on the reins hard, causing his horse to whinny loudly in response.

"Soldiers!" Caspian cried, pulling himself up into his own saddle. "They have fled and hidden in the woods! With any luck, they have not gotten far! Ride. Crush those who have stolen our comrades and friends! Avenge the fallen! For Aslan!"

The soldiers roared in response, banging their hands against the metal of their breastplates loudly. Caspian led the charge into the foliage, Peter, Edmund, and his warriors at his heels. They rode straight into the heart of the forest, ascending from the charred and smoky village, into the mysterious darkened pathways of Narnia's wild terrain.

OOOOO

Silence. Blessed silence.

Susan loved it. No older brother breathing down her neck; no younger brother complaining and whining about what was fair; no little sister guilt-tripping her into a war she had nothing to do with. Paradise.

So why did she feel so bad?

Peter, Edmund, and Caspian had left over an hour ago, and Lucy hadn't been seen since breakfast. Not that Susan was looking, of course. No. After learning of Caspian's…wife–which she realized bothered her more than it should–she had decided that this trip to Narnia would be different. She was going to treat Caspian's castle as home. She would forget that her brothers and sister were risking life and limb to protect the magical land. She would forget that Narnia even existed.

She was bad at pretending.

Her thirst for some normalcy had led her to the one place that could ease her mind. The library. How she loved libraries! Caspian's was massive. Her house back home in Finchley could have easily fit inside, with plenty of room to spare. Ladders lined the walls, and the smell of paper coaxed her toward the nearest shelf. Books of every size, shape, and color graced her probing finger, which ran along the cracking spines and worn covers with glee. She didn't give attention to the titles–many of which were written in a language that had faded into obscurity long before Susan had ever set foot in Narnia. Eventually, after letting her gaze skim over four walls, she walked toward the nearest shelf, closed her eyes and plucked a book from its companions.

It was green with gold lettering written in ancient Narnian along the spine. Content with her choice, she sat herself down in a nearby armchair and opened the cover. Just as her eyes had begun to dissect the opening words, a small, "Oh!" blasted through the silence.

Susan's eyes snapped upward. Between the stacks, she caught sight of a flash of pale green before Maria stepped out, her pregnant belly bulging.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."

Closing the book, Susan stood up, feeling heat rise into her face.

"It's fine. I was just leaving."

"No, wait!"

Susan stopped, wondering what in the world the Queen–Caspian's _wife_ could possible want with her.

Maria walked forward and plopped herself down into the chair next to Susan's, grinning widely.

"What are you reading?"

_None of your business,_ Susan wanted to say. Instead, she held out the book, displaying the spine for Maria to see.

"I don't know what it means," she said, feeling foolish.

For a moment, Maria just looked at it. Then, a breath-taking smile graced her features.

"You have impeccable taste, Queen Susan. That is one of my favorites."

Susan attempted to smile. "Really?"

"Yes. The setting, the characters, the–oh! Well, I wouldn't want to give anything away. Believe me, though, you will love it." Maria giggled her high, girlish laugh. "I expect you'll want to start now. Please excuse my interruption."

Susan nodded. Maria, still smiling, got to her feet. She swept past Susan, gliding perfectly, despite her overly-large stomach.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," she said before floating out of the library.

Susan didn't respond. Her eyes flitted down to the aged item in her hands. She stared at it, as though not really seeing it. Robotically, she moved forward and placed the book back where she had found it. Then, she followed Maria out of the library.

Not once did she look back.

OOOOO

"They are near."

Caspian pointed to the ground by a nearby soldier's foot. At first, Peter felt confusion. They were supposed to be looking for clues to the Cantricals' direction, not dirt. However, after looking a second time, Peter realized there was an indentation in the underbrush.

A footprint.

"How do you know it's them?" said Edmund.

"Because," Caspian replied, "only the Cantricals would travel barefoot through Leysha Woods." He dismounted. Peter and Edmund did the same.

"They are heading…east," Caspian declared after finding a second and third pair of prints. "These are fresh. Perhaps twenty minutes. Maybe less…"

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Edmund bounded back to his horse.

"We should spread out. Fan the area," said Peter. "Just because they are heading east doesn't mean they will continue heading east. They could easily switch directions. If we split up and cover more ground, we might be able to catch them."

No one disagreed with Peter's plan. They maneuvered into a wide arc, spanning over half the width of Leysha Woods, before pressing on. Though Peter couldn't directly see his allies, he could certainly hear them. Not that they were loud. Oh, no. Peter's ears had just become so in tune to his surroundings that the tiniest amount of applied pressure to the forest floor sounded like the boom of a cannon.

For perhaps fifteen minutes, he came across nothing. Just the birds overhead and the ants below. But then, after pushing a colossal fern out of his path, he caught sight of something. Another footprint. He wanted to call out to the others and inform them of his discovery, but he didn't want to alert the Cantricals to his position. They would scramble like deer as soon as he opened his mouth, and the trail would be lost. It was much better to carry on and call the soldiers in once Peter had actually seen the bearer of the print.

Peter slid off his horse, crouched down, and crept forward on his hands and knees. The forest, like the village had been, suddenly went very quiet. The birds fell silent. The only sound was Peter's deep, concentrated breathing. He moved slowly, being extra careful to place himself around anything that could potentially make noise. It was all going well until a loud _crack!_ echoed off his right side.

He rolled, just as an arrow whizzed by his ear. Way too close for comfort. He came out of his somersault, sprang to his feet, and whirled around. Ahead of him, zigzagging through the trees at full speed was a retreating back. Even from where he was poised to pursue, Peter could see the flash of orange hair, the glow of pale skin.

The footprint maker!

His mind flying, Peter sprinted after the runner. His enemy didn't make it easy. He–and Peter knew it was a he from his impressive build–bobbed and weaved through the tree branches and over-grown bushes as though he had done it all his life. Though Peter was keeping a fair pace with him, the foliage made it impossible for him to make up any ground. All thoughts of alerting Caspian to the man's presence disappeared with the untamed wilderness around him.

The runner turned around, not slowing his rigorous pace. In his hands was a crossbow–locked, loaded, and aimed straight at Peter's heart. The man's cold, frighteningly blue eyes were trained on Peter's face. Peter had about two seconds to dive into a nearby bush before the arrow shot forward. It lodged itself in a nearby tree. The man swiveled back around and was swallowed up in the shadows of Leysha Woods.

Panting, Peter leaned over to catch his breath, feeling anger rip through him. He had been so close! He stood straight up, scowling, trying to formulate a plan. He looked about his surroundings, his nerves spiking. Where was he? This part of the woods looked different. Ancient. The trees towered over him, a good eighty or ninety feet in the sky. The air was charged with a strange electricity.

How in Narnia was he going to find his way home?

Straining his ears, Peter listened for the sound of the runner. He most likely knew the path leading out. If Peter could only find him… Instead of footfalls, however, the rhythm of rushing water met him. That and–

Singing?

A rich, pure voice wafted over the breeze. It was female, and held the same electrical current that seemed to blend in with the air. It sent chills down Peter's spine.

_Deep in the meadows, beyond the sea;  
fireflies twinkle and buzz goes the bee._

Peter moved forward, following the song. It echoed off the rocks, filling the woods with life. His eyebrows met in the middle. Who would be in the woods at this time? Especially with the Cantricals so close…. With each step, the tune grew louder, more enticing.

_I'll wait forever, 'till the end;  
when destiny brings us together again. _

The woods morphed around him, growing taller, brighter, and older. Warmth spread from the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his toes. Two rabbits scurried by, unperturbed by Peter's presence. He watched them go, more confused than ever. Game never came that close. What was going on?

_Please keep me in your memory;  
don't forget the things you see. _

The light changed. Though leaves on the trees above filtered the sun, multiple rays somehow streamed through, bathing the forest in a rosy glow. The shadows were erased. Peter could easily see the birds hopping around from branch to branch.

_The lilies will bring you to my enchanted shore;  
and happy you'll be, forevermore._

He broke through a curtain of leaves that cascaded down from the boughs of a willow tree. The sound of rushing water gurgled in the background, muted by the siren voice. Peter blinked. In front of him, a large valley expanded outward. It dipped down, cut in half by a bubbling stream. Sitting in front of the water, was a lone figure. A girl. Her back was to him, and her long, wavy chocolate-brown hair pirouetted in the breeze.

_The stars may fall, and the sun can set;  
winter and springtime all ready have met._

Peter's feet carried him forward. He trampled over the flowers. Who was this girl? Was she in danger? Did she know the Cantricals were near?

Could she help him find his way out?

_The wind carries my lullaby, my tune;  
back to the place where I love you. _

When he was ten feet from the girl, an arrow flew by him, missing the tip of his nose by less than a quarter of an inch. Without thinking, he flung his body down and tackled the girl to the valley floor. "Stay down!" he screeched, jumping to his feet. He couldn't see the threat, so he pulled his sword from its sheath. Just in case.

Suddenly, something collided with the back of Peter's head. He was slammed down into the dirt and saw stars. Pain erupted in his skull, then quickly seeped into every nook and cranny of his body. Distantly, he saw the girl raise herself from the grass. Her face was all ready losing its structure, becoming blurry and dark. He witnessed her lips part, though from worry or happiness he never knew.

Then everything went black.

_The wind carries my lullaby, my tune;  
__back to the place where I love you._

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note: **Song (c) me.


	6. An Unexpected Encounter

**6 – An Unexpected Encounter**

* * *

"They should be back by now."

Susan withheld a groan. Did every waking have to resolve around Narnia's fate?

"I'm sure they're fine, Lucy," she said. "They went off to fight. They could be gone for several days. Worrying won't help." She picked up a roll and held it out for Lucy. Lucy shook her head. Susan sighed.

Another afternoon ruined. Of course, Susan couldn't lie to herself; she was very concerned about her brothers and Caspian. They had left the previous morning and still had not returned. Something must have happened… But they weren't dead. They couldn't be. Someone would have contacted them otherwise.

But still. With each passing moment, the feeling of dread grew stronger, and the anger at being thrown into this mess fueled the already-roaring fire inside her.

In an effort to raise Lucy's spirits–which had steadily been turning as morbid as her own–Susan had arranged a picnic. Caspian's chefs had been more than happy to oblige. They cooked all of Susan and Lucy's favorite dishes. They had even found a large, blue blanket and tucked it inside the food-stuffed basket. A nice surprise.

"But something's not right!" Lucy exclaimed, looking out upon the castle grounds. The two sisters were seated under a large oak tree. It shaded them from the blazing sun overhead. "I can feel it."

Though she would never admit it, Lucy's words made Susan uneasy. In the past, Lucy's 'feelings' had always been spot on, especially when it came to Narnia. More especially when it came to Aslan. It was as though she had some weird radar that was perfectly in tune with anything out of the ordinary.

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that I can feel change coming. Something big. Like winter turning into spring."

"Lucy," Susan said in an exasperated tone, "I don't know if you have realized this, but it's the middle of summer here. I don't think we are switching seasons."

Lucy let out a frustrated growl.

"No! It's more than that!" she said. "It feels…it feels like when Aslan shakes his mane. Only different."

"I don't think Aslan is coming, Lu."

"You don't feel it, do you?" Lucy felt disgusted at Susan's inability to believe beyond what her eyes could see. In her mind, she just couldn't understand how one couldn't have unbending faith in something so real. Something so whole.

"I said it was something _like_ Aslan. Not Aslan himself."

Lucy stood up, watching as the tree swayed above them. The leaves fluttered in the wind. After a minute, Lucy turned back to Susan.

"It feels," she said, "like magic."

OOOOO

Peter groaned, pushing himself off the ground. Immediately, pain spread through his veins, scorching his shaking limbs. His head felt like it had been split in two. He couldn't see.

"I wouldn't do that," a voice said just as something cold touched his neck.

He didn't have much of a choice; his quivering arms gave away beneath him, and his skull collided with the hard ground. Fresh pain beat against his temples. But Peter wasn't thinking about that. He was more concerned by the voice. It sounded friendly enough, but years of training had taught him to always be on his guard.

Curiosity got the better of him. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, wincing as he did so. Even his eyelids hurt. The action really didn't do him a lot of good. His sight was blurry and hazy. Just a mixture of colors, really.

"You'll be feeling this tomorrow, Peter."

_I think I'm feeling it now,_ he thought bitterly. Aloud, he asked, "How do you know my name?" Or that is what he tried to say. His cracked lips had difficulty forming the words.

Somehow, the voice understood his horrendous speech.

"Oh, it's not hard. 'High King Peter the Magnificent' is how the stories refer to you." A laugh. "But that's a bit of a mouthful, don't you think?"

He didn't know how to respond. Distantly, he felt the cold layer disappear from his neck and move to his forehead. It felt amazingly soothing.

"Who're you?" he asked.

The voice didn't answer right away. Instead, he felt a tingling sensation in his swollen eyes. It wasn't painful, or even uncomfortable. On the contrary. It had a gentle and careful touch.

He blinked. Suddenly, there was light everywhere–bright and deafening. He winced and snapped his eyes shut. Vibrant dots broke out along his sight.

"Sorry," the voice said quickly. "I probably should have warned you first."

"It's f – wait…_you_ did that?" Carefully, he opened his eyes again. At first, nothing changed. The harsh light gleamed down at him, blinding him. He waited for his vision to clear. After a few seconds, it did. Shapes and colors took form above him. Peter realized he was lying on his back.

His four remaining senses roared back to life in quick succession. He could feel grass tickle the sides of his face. Water gurgled in the background. The smell of strawberries crawled up his nose; he could taste the scent on his tongue.

That's when he realized how thirsty he was.

"Here."

A pair of hands seized his upper torso and pulled him skyward. He kept waiting for the pain to return, but it never did. Confused, he didn't register being lowered until his back hit something soft. He was now in a sitting position. The same hands moved up to his face and tilted his head back gently.

"Drink," the voice commanded.

Water touched his parched lips. It was rough going down his throat, but he drank it anyway. It was icy-cold and left a freezing layer over his tongue. He swallowed several large gulps before the water was taken away.

"Easy, easy. Don't need you getting sick."

In his mind, he was protesting. It had tasted so good! But then, finally, he caught sight of the person behind the voice.

It was the girl. The one he had seen before being knocked unconscious. She had rich, wavy, dark-brown hair that was pulled up into a tight ponytail on the back of her head, angular features covered in golden, sun-kissed skin, and large, blue eyes. No, green eyes. Brown?

What the-?

"How're you doing that?" Peter croaked, forgetting his other one-hundred or so questions.

"Doing what?" The girl–she looked to be about Susan's age. Maybe older-looked genuinely confused.

"That thing with your eyes," he pressed on. "They keep changing colors." Silver. Hazel. Purple. Sea-green. Aqua.

"Oh." She looked away. "It doesn't matter." She reached down into the stream beside them with her bare hands. "What matters," she said, avoiding his gaze, "is that you are feeling better. You have a pretty nasty bump on your head."

"Ow!" Peter agreed, the pounding as prominent as ever. "What happened after I, uh…"

"Passed out?" She shrugged. Peter ignored the bluntness of her words. "Nothing really. I attacked and they ran off."

"'They'? There was more than one?"

"There were three actually."

Three. Another ambush. Peter managed a weak smile. "Well, thanks, um…what was your name again?"

She pulled her hands from the water. A thin layer of drops clung to her palms. The girl brushed them along Peter's cheeks, his chin, his forehead. When she had used all the liquid, she plunged her hand back into the water and repeated the process. His ears. His nose. His scalp. Each place she touched burned on contact, then shot toward the other extreme of freezing cold before finally resting somewhere between the two. All traces of pain and exhaustion were wiped clean.

"Ilena," she said.

"Sorry?"

"Ilena. You asked for my name. It's Ilena."

"Ilena. That's…It's nice to meet you," Peter said, testing her name out. She nodded, confirming that she had heard him. "If you don't mind my asking," he started, struck by another question, "what are you doing out here?"

"Taking care of you, obviously."

"For which I'm very grateful. I was actually referring to before you noticed I was here."

Ilena shrugged. "Just…enjoying the valley. The forest. Listening to the water. That sort of thing."

"So you had no idea you were being stalked?"

"Actually," she corrected him, "I wasn't being stalked. _You_ were being stalked at the same time you happened upon _me_. I am guiltless in all of this."

"Then why are you healing me?"

She smirked. "Were you expecting that I would abandon the injured?"

"I'm not injured."

"Thanks to me."

"Right. But still. Most wouldn't show that type of kindness in a war."

"Yes they would," Ilena countered. "Do you really believe that people are that heartless inside?" Her gaze locked with his. Something burned in her irises. "Besides, I am hardly a Cantrical. Or worse."

Peter exhaled roughly. This conversation wasn't going at all how he had expected it to. Ilena, likewise, wasn't anything like what her appearance might indicate. Already, he had fallen victim to her quick tongue and speedy wit. She certainly wasn't passive.

He didn't know what to think.

"You still there?"

Ok, there was _one_ thing he knew for sure: her sarcasm was going to be tough to handle. And more importantly, tough to match.

OOOOO

The horn came without warning. One moment there was silence, the next, the air was filled with a loud, booming tone. It echoed loudly, clearly, impossible to ignore.

Susan and Lucy's heads snapped upward in response. Was it…could it be…surely it must… Like torpedoes, they shot off the picnic blanket, leaving it and all of the food in their wake. The sun had dropped from the center of the sky, yet still was high enough to bathe the world in light. As the girls ran, their figures cast long shadows.

The horn sounded a second time but Susan and Lucy ignored it. They clambered up the steps leading to the castle. Inside, there was a flurry of movement. Servants were dashing in all directions. The sisters dove in and out of them, not speaking. They were much too preoccupied with their own thoughts.

At last they arrived at the front of the castle. The door leading outside was open and several figures were lined up, ready to greet the oncoming procession. Maria was among them. Lucy ran out the doors first, closely followed by Susan. They made their way to the front of the crowd, just as the riders came to a halt in front of them.

"Edmund!" Lucy cried in joy, skittering to his horse. He dismounted and grimaced as she flung her arms around him. "What took you so long?"

Edmund caught Susan's eye. And Susan truly saw him for the first time. He and the rest of the riders were covered in dirt, grime and sweat. Each wore a look of complete hatred.

Well, all except Caspian, who was embracing Maria.

Susan's eyes traveled over the heads, and something clicked.

"Where's Peter?"

Edmund's eyes flashed as he pried Lucy off of him. He pushed his hair from his face and squared his jaw.

"Actually, I was hoping you could tell me."

OOOOO

"Slow down!"

Peter trudged up the hill, annoyance coursing through him, wondering how in the world he had agreed to this. His head still hurt and his legs were on fire. He would never underestimate a girl again.

Ahead of him, Ilena swiveled around, her smirk visible in the setting sun. How Peter had already grown to hate that smirk. "We're almost there!" she called, teasing.

"That's what you said twenty minutes ago," he reminded her, momentarily stopping to catch his breath.

"Well, it was true then too." She skipped to him, her ponytail flying. "And we'd be there by now if you weren't so stubborn."

Peter ignored her. That's how it had been their entire trek. All he had asked was if she knew the way out of the valley and forest and back to Caspian's castle. He hadn't realized at the time that her nod meant she was going to personally show him the way. A map would have done just fine. Couple that with her insistence of helping him (as he could barely walk) and her obvious anger when he declined her offer, as well as his splitting headache, and the day hadn't exactly been joyous.

He doubted he had ever been called stubborn so many times.

"Excuse me for taking a break," he spat back. Of course, he felt bad a second later. Kings should never lose their temper. One quick look at Ilena, however, told him she wasn't offended. In fact, she looked sort of amused.

"A break? Well what would you call the first ten stops we made?"

She was joking, he knew. But that didn't stop him from retaliating. He couldn't help it. She was just so…infuriating.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't chosen the windiest, bumpiest path you could find…"

She eyed him. "You don't know how to have fun, do you?"

"Sure I do!" he said. "But maybe my version of fun doesn't include trying to twist my ankle a thousand times."

"You know what your problem is? You have no sense of adventure. Now quit complaining."

It was Peter's turn to smirk. He had had plenty of adventures in the past. Using a wardrobe to travel to an enchanted land. Talking to a lion. Nearly having his face ripped off by a wolf. Good times.

"Just lead the way," he said in a bored voice.

"Lead the way _please_?"

"Lead the way _please_," he amended, rolling his eyes.

Ilena bowed. Unlike most Narnian women he had encountered, Ilena wore a pair of knee-length emerald breeches, and a simple white t-shirt. She seemed to float more than walk, her small feet in white ballerina-type slippers.

It. Looked. Bizarre.

With a huff, Peter straightened and sauntered after her. He hadn't been kidding about her leading him down the windiest, bumpiest path. It was laden with rocks, and the trees were so close, they were almost growing on top of each other. But the weirdest thing was that Ilena felt the need to _touch_ everything. It didn't matter if the obstacle was to her right, left, or directly in front of her. She brushed her fingers against trees, bushes, rocks, and ferns.

They had been traveling for about an hour, and still Peter hadn't seen any sign that they were making any progress. For all he knew, Ilena was driving him deeper into the forest. All he had to reassure him was her constant reminders to move faster, punishment for his refusal for help.

When they weren't bickering, Ilena would sing. Her clear voice rang deep through the trees, bouncing off rocks and plants. Birds chirped and cooed in response. Animals of every size and species bounded past her as though she wasn't really there. If he wasn't so tired, Peter might have inquired about it.

"Ok, _now_ we are almost there."

Peter gritted his teeth. "You better not be lying."

"Or what? You'll use your king-y voice to yell at me? Oooh!" she said, laughing. "Anyway, I'm not lying. See for yourself." She brushed some tree branches aside and Peter sighed in relief.

Somehow–and he would never understand how–Ilena had done it. Looming before him, its turrets and rooftops glittering in the sun, was Caspian's castle. The entrance was deserted and the grounds were strangely still.

"Thank you?" Ilena prompted, laughing at Peter's awed expression.

"Thank you!" Peter exclaimed, already running for the steps. He pushed past the soreness in his legs. He had so much to tell Susan and Lucy! And Edmund and Caspian when they returned. He felt a faint twinge of anger that no one had come to look for him. But even that little twinge wasn't enough to keep him from flinging the double-doors open and wildly careening inside.

The many servants that were moving about the hallways froze when they saw him. Clearly they were wondering why he was alone. But he didn't have time to explain. Susan and Lucy would be sitting down to dinner about now. He sped toward the dining hall.

To say that everyone looked shocked when he burst through the doors would be a vast understatement. Susan and Lucy wore similar expressions of disbelief. Peter was surprised to see Edmund and Caspian. Edmund was in mid-bite, the drumstick he held still aloft in front of his mouth. Maria gasped. Caspian choked out, "Peter!"

Peter was about to respond when, out of the blue, a body slammed into him. He teetered, and then fell forward, just barely catching himself before he hit the floor. He looked up. Ilena blushed, a faint pink spreading across her golden cheeks.

"So," she said, clearly trying to lighten the mood, "what's for dinner?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Her name is pronounced: Eye-lee-nuh.


	7. Legend of Avella

**7 - Legend of Avella**

* * *

There was a pregnant pause, then -

"Avella."

Six pairs of eyes flashed to Caspian, whose jaw rested on the floor. His eyes were wide, trapped on Ilena. His expression was a mixture of disbelief and awe, as though he wasn't quite seeing her. Suddenly, he stood up, causing his chair to tumble to the ground with a horrible clatter. The sound didn't seem to reach him as he quickly maneuvered around it. With a swish, his legs gave out, and he was kneeling before her.

"Avella?" Maria whispered uncertainly. She sized Ilena up, gasped, and copied her husband.

Ilena wrinkled her nose. "I hate that," she muttered, so low that only Peter heard her. She sighed, rearranged her features into a blinding smile, and said loudly, "Rise, King and Queen of Narnia."

Caspian did as he was told, but kept his head slightly inclined to her. Maria remained on the floor. Ilena stared at Caspian pointedly. He immediately got the message and seized his wife by the shoulders, hauling her to her feet. Maria didn't notice. Caspian cleared his throat. "Please, join us," he said earnestly, gesturing to the table. "It would be an honor to dine with an Avella. Especially The Avella."

"Excuse me," said Edmund, "but what's an Avella?"

Maria finally looked up, her eyes flashing dangerously. Caspian rubbed her shoulder gently.

"They do not know."

"No," Ilena said, smiling. "They do not." She glanced at Peter and he didn't like the smirk-that infuriating smirk-that slid into place. "I believe a story needs to be told." She moved around Caspian and Maria, beckoning them to follow her. As though in a trance, they returned to their seats, not sitting until Ilena had claimed a chair. The four Pevensies exchanged confused looks. Ilena called out, "Are you planning on sitting down, Stubborn?"

Edmund snorted, dropping the drumstick in his hands. Peter rolled his eyes and stalked to the nearest vacant setting. He tried to ignore the inquiring gazes that followed him.

When everyone was situated, Ilena opened her mouth to speak. Then she closed it, trying to decide how best to narrate the tale. "I suppose," she finally said, "I should first explain how Avellas came to be. It isn't difficult to understand, and will answer many of your other questions."

Edmund cried, "Wait!" His head snapped to Caspian. "Do we have time? What about-"

"It can wait," Caspian replied with a wave of his hand. "Avella is right. This is a story that must be told." With that, he fell silent.

Ilena didn't look at all upset that Edmund had interrupted. She merely started speaking again, as though nothing had happened. "You all know of Aslan, of course. The great things he's done, the miracles he's performed. The hope he brings. His mere presence sends the mightiest of enemies running away in fear. When you, the Kings and Queens of Old, first stepped foot in Narnia, Aslan had been gone for one-hundred years. During his...absence, evil overtook the land. The White Witch rose to power. The Dark Ages, as they are now known, purged the land of happiness."

Ilena stopped, apparently lost in thought. Her ever-changing eyes saw things that Caspian, Maria, and the Pevensies could scarcely imagine. Though they all knew the story well enough, no one dared to interrupt. Like in the valley, Peter felt the air charge with electricity.

"The Dark Ages plunged Narnia into chaos. All that once was seemed to be coming to an end. Hope was lost. But, what most don't realize is that Aslan never abandoned Narnia. No, he was there in spirit. And in the eyes and hearts of his watchers. His guardians. The first Avellas.

"The literal translation of Avella is 'Spirit'. They were created at the Dawn-the time when the deep magic of Narnia was first written. Aslan molded and shaped them into different forms, though all had the common goal of watching over Narnia. Their single purpose was to bring hope and joy to the land. To protect it. However, though bestowed with special powers and properties, they couldn't fulfill their quest. Narnia fell to the White Witch. The first Avellas failed." She sighed and looked at the Pevensies. "And then you all came."

"Us?" Susan's eyebrows slanted downward.

"No, the other Pevensies. Of course you! Aslan returned when Lucy entered Narnia. The minute her body made contact with the Western Woods, Aslan reappeared. I don't think I need to explain what happened after that. Narnia was saved thanks to you lot. No thanks to the Avellas. They weren't strong enough. They couldn't compete. So Aslan intervened, equipping them with more advanced weaponry and means of operation. For the next couple thousands of years, Narnia prospered. The Avellas grew stronger. Though you don't realize it, they have aided you all at one point or another." She looked knowingly at Lucy. "You've already had the pleasure of meeting one. Can you guess who?"

Lucy's face screwed up in concentration, then broke into a dazzling smile. "You mean Santa Clause?"

"More commonly known as Father Christmas, but yes."

"Hold on," Susan said, putting her elbow on the table as she gestured toward Ilena. "You can't tell me that Santa Clause-_Santa Clause_-is a guardian of Narnia."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, because he delivers presents. Presents. By going down chimneys. Second, he exists in our world. How? It's all impossible."

Ilena stared at Susan hard, until the girl dropped her gaze.

"You like that word too much. Nothing is impossible."

"But that doesn't answer my question. How?"

Ilena exhaled and glanced at Peter. "She's worse at believing that you are." She turned back to Susan. "Did you ever think that those gifts are more than simple packages? Father Christmas was among the first Avellas, yes, but he was one of the few that did not fail. His presents did, and continue to bring joy, happiness and hope-the very things Avellas were created for. He brought you your weapons. He brought you your faith. Even in the darkest of times, compassion and love can exist. Tell me if that does not remind you of Aslan."

Susan remained quiet. She bit her lips and looked down at her half-eaten plate.

Ilena went on. "As for your second point, you should know that Avellas exist everywhere. In all places, all times. Just because you return home doesn't mean that Aslan forgets you. Avellas in your world simply have different names than here. Take me, for instance. In Narnia, I am known as The Avella. The Spirit. I bring life to every person, every living thing. I heal and regenerate; those are the powers Aslan granted me. Yes, in this world I am known as Avella. In your world, however," she said, grinning, "I am known as Mother Nature."

Silence met this proclamation. Truthfully, the Pevensies were starting to question Ilena's sanity. Only Lucy seemed to believe what she was saying. One look at Caspian and Maria's serious faces, however, left no room for doubt. Ilena's story was true.

"It that why you were touching everything?" Peter asked, remembering her odd behavior in the woods.

"Yes. Mother Nature. They didn't give me that name because they liked my smile. I am connected to all living organisms. I feel their pain, sorrow, joy, and happiness. I exist everywhere-in the past, the present, the future. I go where I am needed when I am needed."

"Avellas are like guardian angels, aren't they?" chirped Lucy.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ilena and Peter said at the same time. Ilena looked at him. He dropped his eyes. She laughed. "Watch it, Stubborn. I could turn you into a toad if I wanted to."

"Really?" Edmund said a little too eagerly. Peter whacked him in the back of the head.

"Yes, really."

"Brilliant!"

She laughed again. "I like you, Edmund."

Edmund flushed.

"Anyway," Ilena went on. "When you returned, thirteen-hundred years later, another Avella aided you." She scanned the curious faces that were watching her. "Anyone care to guess?"

"The river guardian?" Lucy supplied. They all went spiraling back to that moment when the river-the Avella-swept their enemy away. How little they had known then.

"Correct. So you see, Avellas have been aiding you far longer than you think. They guide you. Sort of like a conscience." She grabbed a biscuit from the basket next to her, took a bite, and then asked, "Now, have I answered all your questions?" She looked at Edmund.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I think so."

"Good. Now, what was it you wanted to tell us?"

Edmund's eyes went hazy, then realization hit. "OH!" His eyes shot to Peter going very wide. "There's something you need to see. Now. We were going to show you earlier, but, well…" Ilena threw him an apologetic smile.

Peter let out a low breath. He had had enough excitement for one day.

"What is it?"

"Trouble."

OOOOO

_Clang!_

The girl collided with the metal bars, her tongue hissing loudly through her clenched teeth. The impact knocked her back, sending her spiraling toward the floor. She stumbled, trying to right herself. Her tangled, fiery tresses shot out in all directions, consuming her head in a blazing inferno. She collected herself, waiting for the waves of pain to subside. When they did, she opened her eyes, growled, and charged again.

_Clang!_

Peter winced. Each metallic ring seemed to reverberate down his spine, as though he was the one bashing his skull against the iron poles. _Clang! Clang! Clang!_ He looked away. He couldn't help it; the sight was too much. Around him, his companions' faces wore similar looks of repulsion.

"Can't you do something?" Susan asked desperately. She was watching the scene before them in horror. "Stop her before she permanently disables herself."

Caspian shook his head despondently. "I cannot. She is acting of her own accord."

"But-"

"No. There is nothing I can do. She is a prisoner, yes. But even I do not have the power to control her actions."

_Clang!_

Peter felt bile rise up into the back of his throat. They should be rejoicing. Cheering. Celebrating. They had finally done it. Caspian and Edmund had captured a Cantrical. The enemy. While Peter had been unconscious, they had ambushed her, tied her up, and lugged her back to the castle. A wealth of information stood before them. Secrets. Stories. Truth. Anything they wanted to know could be theirs if they applied the necessary steps. All it would take was a few lashes…

No. He couldn't do it. It was wrong. Peter did not torture. Especially not a girl. Not a child.

Of course, she wasn't really a child. In between her ramming into the walls, and bars, Peter could see that the girl was about fifteen years old. Only three years younger than him. She had a steely determination in her hypnotizing eyes, and a mouth that spewed pure, undeniable rage and hatred. Her body was painfully thin. Peter could see the bones through her skin. She glazed over the group of people, and for a moment, Peter felt bad. They were watching her as though she was an interesting museum exhibit. However, this feeling soon vanished as she once again slammed against the confines of her cell.

_Clang!_

Susan was right. They had to do something. Peter vaguely wondered if she was trying to kill herself. The idea made him cringe.

Beside him, Lucy let out a little whimper. Peter came soaring back to the present.

Oh.

_Stupid!_

How could he have been so foolish as to let Lucy see this?

"Su," Peter whispered, nudging her in the side. She turned and he glanced pointedly at Lucy. One look told her everything. She nodded.

"Lucy." The young girl snapped her head up to her older sister. Susan put her arms around her and slowly began to steer her out of the room. "It's time you were in bed."

For once, Lucy didn't protest. She allowed Susan-who looked extremely grateful for her cooperation-to lead her through the door and out of sight. From the moment she was gone, Peter felt better. There was just something wrong about corrupting innocence. Sure, his sister had seen more than her fair share of the world's horrors.

But that didn't mean she had to see everything. He would protect her where he could.

_Clang!_

The blood had long since started flowing down the girl's forehead. With each hit, the bruise grew larger, the blood seeped faster, and her eyes became a little more dazed. At one point, Peter could have sworn he saw her looking at him. But that moment passed quickly, and she was back to her suicidal rampage.

Caspian turned away, apparently the sight becoming too much. "I know that we are all tired"-No lie there. Peter was exhausted-"but I am afraid tonight will be anything but restful. These…people," he said, as though it were the last thing he thought the girl was, "are ruthless. They are cunning. Someone must be down here at all times."

"Take turns keeping watch?" Peter clarified.

"Unfortunately, yes. Though it shames me to admit it, I do not trust all of my men. Spies are everywhere. The only way to ensure that she remains in our possession is if one of us is down here with her."

The weight of his words set upon them, and Peter, Edmund and Ilena fell silent. Peter and Ilena locked gazes for a moment. Her eyes, though flashing the rainbow, gave away nothing. Peter wondered what she was thinking.

The girl gave no indication that she had heard any of it.

"I will take first watch," Caspian said. He sat down in a chair he had brought down with them and positioned himself so that he was between the cell and the exit out of the dungeon. "Please, get some sleep. It will be a long night."

They quickly divided up times.

Slowly, Peter ambled toward the door, Ilena and Edmund at his heels. He was still desperately trying to wrap his mind around what he had just seen. He wasn't doing a very good job. But Caspian was right. They didn't know who they could trust. They had to be careful.

As the door slammed shut behind him, he heard it again.

_Clang!_

And even though the route from the dungeon to his room was a long one, he could have sworn he could still hear the pounding rings of flesh and metal melding together as one.

OOOOO

_The lilies will bring you to my enchanted shore; _  
_and happy you'll be, forevermore._

Peter stopped, feeling the song waft over him. He was on his way to the dungeon. Though no one had come to him and told him it was his turn, he went anyway. He couldn't sleep. He might as well make himself useful.

She would appreciate his offer, she felt sure.

Ilena had her back to him, firmly seated in the chair Caspian had resided in just hours before. For some odd reason, she was singing again, completely ignoring the enraged looks the girl in the cell continued throwing her way. The girl's eyes snapped to his face the moment he entered. The bruises on her forehead and face were already a deep shade of purple, evident even through the bloody layer over her skin.

Peter cleared his throat. Ilena fell silent and swiveled around. They simply looked at each other. Then she stood up.

"My turn," Peter said, feeling uncomfortable. Her eyes-blue, violet, mint-were staring directly at him. She nodded, but didn't look away. As stupid as it sounded, Peter could have sworn he felt the energy in the room suddenly spike.

"Have fun." Slowly, she walked past him, never lowering her gaze. At the last second, she turned back to him and smiled. The dark room grew brighter. And then she was gone, the door swinging shut with a low thud. It wasn't until after she was out of sight that Peter let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Momentarily stunned, he walked over to the chair and sat down, his focus now on the girl in the cell. She didn't acknowledge him through words. Just one really deranged glare. The walls seemed to close in on him. He realized just how small the dungeon seemed to become without any noise.

No wonder Ilena had been singing. This was enough to drive any person crazy.

But Peter wasn't a singer. So he crossed his arms, planted his feet, and prepared himself for a very long night.


	8. Learning a Lesson

**8 - Learning a Lesson**

* * *

The morning came too soon. Light streamed in from the open window, bathing the High King's bedchamber in a rosy glow. The air was already stifling hot, though it couldn't be earlier than six in the morning. Upon the bed, Peter was tangled up in his sheets, a thin layer of sweat on his brow. The moment the light touched him, he groaned and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head.

Guard duty had _not_ been fun. The dungeon, with its thick walls, and lack of human compassion, seemed to close in on him as the night wore on. The Cantrical girl had ignored him for the most part, only hissing and snarling at him when he shifted position. He tried to ignore her as best he could, but the small space had made it difficult. He had been sitting in the chair for over three hours before at last Edmund came to take his place. By the time he had crawled back up to his room and stumbled into bed, his brain had switched to thought mode, making sleep impossible.

His thoughts had taking him to a very confusing place. Memories of the previous day-the waking up to a strange girl, the long trek home, the story of Avellas, the girl in the cell, Ilena's intense gaze as she left the dungeon-it all swirled together in odd combinations. For the better part of the night he had tossed and turned, the images jumbling around in his brain, as he desperately tried to drift off. He had finally collapsed at around three into a very restless sleep.

As such, the sun was most unwelcome to his exhausted eyes.

Peter rolled back over, exhaling forcefully. Today was going to be tough. All ready, he was in a bad mood. He would have to be extra careful to guard his emotions. After all, a king wasn't allowed to lose his temper.

_Stupid light. Stupid bed. Stupid pillow. _

He groaned once and then sat up, feeling his joints, which were in knots, pop. He massaged his neck, feeling tension. Outside, the birds were singing, their calls doing nothing to ease Peter's frazzles nerves.

_Stupid birds._

With another deep breath, he pushed himself off of the mattress, nearly falling over in the process. His head hurt badly. He righted himself at the last moment, and waited for the world to stop spinning. When it did, he stumbled forward toward the trunk at the end of the bed. He flung it open and dug through the clothes inside. Within minutes, he was dressed. Quickly, he combed his fingers through his hair, not really caring if it looked presentable or not, then he stalked out of the room, snatching up his sword as he did so.

The halls were worse. Servants bustled about, only stopping when Peter walked by so they could kneel before him. They smiled, and greeted him in cheerful tones before resuming their work. Peter did his best to act friendly.

But, really, did they all have to be so happy?

Eventually, he arrived outside the kitchen. In the time it had taken to walk from his room to the dining hall, the temperature had risen about fifteen degrees. There was no doubt that today would be a warm one. For some reason, this only darkened his outlook. He ignored the doors leading into the dining hall and instead walked directly into the kitchen, hoping to get a quick bite to eat without coming across Maria, Caspian, Ilena, or any of his siblings.

The kitchen was even warmer, heated by the roaring fire in the hearth that was steadily cooking the morning's breakfast. The cooks were all laughing and chatting, displaying an ease that immediately disappeared when they caught sight of the High King.

"Your Highness," one man said, rushing forward, inclining his head in respect. Peter nodded, knowing that if he opened his mouth, something bad would rush out. The cook didn't seem to notice his discomfort and continued on. "It is a pleasure. Anything you wish, please just -"

Suddenly a voice called out, "You're up early."

No. The man fell silent, and both his and Peter's eyes drifted to the corner. Ilena was sitting on a countertop, watching them with an amused expression. She was eating some bizarre-looking fruit, and swinging her legs through the air merrily.

So much for wishful thinking.

Peter's mouth tightened. He knew he wasn't ready to deal with her and her blatant disregard for him. One feisty comment of hers, and he was bound to shoot off like a rocket. But he couldn't just ignore her. She was waiting for a reply.

"As are you," he said delicately, walking toward her at a snail's pace. He assured the cook he was fine before grabbing an apple-at least, it looked like an apple-from a nearby basket, and taking a juicy bite, giving himself a reason to not talk. She smirked, a maniacal glint in her eyes, as though she knew what he was thinking.

"I was never one for sleeping in," she said, shrugging. She had changed from green to brown breeches, and a blue shirt without sleeves. Her hair was still in a constricted ponytail on the back of her head.

Peter reminded himself to keep control over his annoyance and slid up on the counter beside her. She would laugh if he allowed any anger to rise into his voice. It was simply too early to be mocked. Making conversation, he asked, "How come you are not eating in the dining hall?"

Another shrug. "I just didn't feel like it." She finished off her fruit, leaned across him and proceeded to take one of the apples as well. "How come you're not?" she countered, biting into it.

"Same reason."

She raised an eyebrow, but her expression gave nothing away. It was like in the cell the previous day; he couldn't understand what she was thinking. Her face was straight and rigid, her eyes sapphire-blue, chocolate-brown, evergreen.

It unnerved him.

An awkward silence followed. Awkward for Peter, anyway. He racked his brain, trying to think up something to say. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, but he couldn't find the right words. Ilena didn't press him, either. She simply kept gnawing away at her apple, comfortable in the moment.

Finally, he said, "Hot, isn't it?"

She snorted a laugh, turning away so as not to spray him with bits of apple. She coughed, still giggling like mad when Peter asked, "Are you ok?" With a nod, she touched her hand to her throat, trying to stem her hacking. After a few minutes, she turned back to him and said, "You're honestly asking me about the weather?"

Ugh. Peter rolled his eyes, feeling both embarrassed and irritable. Why did she have to tease him about every little thing? Did she enjoy making him feel like an idiot?

"Yeah," he replied defensively, "I guess I am."

She laughed some more, patting near her collarbone, trying to quiet herself and keep the rest of the apple where it belonged. "Just checking. Yes," she purred, "the weather is simply _blazing_."

He felt his cheeks tinge. She. Was. So. INFURIATING.

But he wasn't going to let her know she was getting to him. Oh, no.

"Tell me," he said, his mood shifting. "Are you really an Avella? I should think something created by Aslan would be a little more well-mannered."

She raised an eyebrow, rising to his challenge. "Of course I'm an Avella. And not just AN Avella. I am THE Avella. I was the first one ever created."

That surprised him, but he continued on in a dry voice, "Well, I suppose every project needs a rough draft."

She simply smirked. No hint of anger, frustration, or annoyance graced her features. No, once again, she looked amused. As though his insults and jibes were folly. Mere child's play. That got to him more than anything. Her calm, cool attitude grated on his nerves. How could she take everything so easily?

She suddenly leaned forward, placing herself in very close proximity to his face. "Would you," she said, sarcasm dripping over every word, "like me to show you what an Avella can do? Because I have no problem turning you into a mushroom."

She was much too close. Heat rose into his face.

Women, to Peter, were a mystery. He had never truly gotten the chance to get to know one on a personal level. His sisters and mother didn't count. As far as he could tell, women were sneaky, conniving, and a definite force to be reckoned with.

"I'll pass," he choked out, averting his eyes. He didn't need to look up to know that she was still smirking. Man, she did that a lot. Slowly, she leaned back and Peter felt like he could breathe again.

"What's with the sword?" she asked, pointing to the sheath attached to his waist. She crossed her legs

"Oh." He slid it out and held it up, his eyes ravaging it. "I was planning on getting some practice in this morning. I am usually a little, uh, uncoordinated when I first come back to Narnia."

"You mean you're actually good the rest of the time?"

Ouch. That one hurt his pride. Peter never bragged about his talent with a sword, but he knew he was better than most. Each time he used it, he felt like it was just an extension of his arm, perfectly in tune with the rest of him.

He decided to ignore her.

"I hope you believe in Avellas," she suddenly remarked. He looked at her before he could stop himself.

"What do you mean?"

She touched the point gently. The sword gave off a weird little hum, glowed bright white for a moment, then reverted to its original form. "I mean," she said, "that an Avella gave you this. He made it from his own blood, sweat, and tears. He crafted it, spent years perfecting it, waiting for your arrival." Her eyes flashed to his face. "That type of dedication will only aid you if you believe in the impossible."

He had never thought about it like that. Though he had heard her story the previous day, he hadn't made the connection between Father Christmas and the object in his hands. His grip on it tightened.

"Well, do you?" Ilena asked, poking him in the side. "Do you believe in the impossible?"

He wanted to say yes. So badly he wanted to say yes. He knew that was the answer she was looking for. But as he slid the sword back in its sheath, a weight settled in his chest. He didn't believe. And he knew it.

And she knew it.

For a brief moment, sadness flashed across her eyes, which paused from their ever-rotating band of colors. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come. Had he blinked, he would have missed it.

"It's ok," she said quietly, for once, her tone serious. "Most people don't. I understand."

The disappointment was clear. His anger melted away and was replaced by shame. He felt like a child wanting to please their parents. For some reason, he felt guilty.

And he had no idea why.

Really, he shouldn't care what she thought. She was just some annoying girl he had happened upon by accident. She knew nothing about him. She had no right to judge him.

And yet, when he glanced back at her, he saw it.

The determination.

The pride.

Just a hint of Aslan's wisdom.

He wasn't letting her down.

He was letting Aslan down.

OOOOO

Since he hadn't attended breakfast, Peter felt the obligation to join the others for lunch. His irrational irritation with the world had softened slightly after leaving the kitchen, so that he was at least able to contain any outburst that threatened to spill from his lips. Around the dining table, the others talked loudly, smiling and laughing, not noticing the internal struggle taking place in their friend's mind. Only Ilena, who was seated across from him, was oddly silent. She was avoiding his gaze like the plague.

Peter wanted to scream. Her words kept playing over and over in his mind, like a broken record.

_Do you believe in the impossible? Well, do you?_

Peter had suffered a great mental blow. The question, as simple as it was, referred to more than just believing in Avellas. It was questioning his belief in everything. Narnia. Aslan. Himself.

It was ridiculous. He knew who he was. He was Peter Pevensie. He grew up in Finchley. He had a brother, two sisters, a mother, a father. He was eighteen years old. He was a soldier. A fighter. And King of Narnia? No, it couldn't be. There was some barrier between who he was in England and who he was in Narnia. He couldn't be both; only one or the other. Because the two together made no sense. It was impossible.

His was losing his grip on reality.

_Do you believe?_

_Well, of course I do_! he thought bitterly. He had to. He was here, right? That had to count for something. _I believe. I believe._

But he didn't. He didn't know how.

Gazing miserably down the length of the table, Peter watched his siblings. Edmund was talking to Caspian, no doubt discussing some war-related issue. Ilena looked deep in thought, staring out the window with a blank expression. Susan and Lucy were laughing, their faces lit up in happiness and joy.

Susan.

Susan didn't believe. She had said so herself. Susan didn't believe in Narnia. None of it. Not the wardrobe; not the White Witch; not Aslan. Nothing.

But…she wasn't happy. Even now, as she laughed along with Lucy, Peter could see it. The doubt and depression hidden in the corners of her eyes. She tried to shy away from it. But she failed. He could see it. All of it.

Is that what he wanted? To be so devoid of faith that everything before him held no meaning? To go on, pretending he was enjoying himself when clearly he wasn't?

No. He couldn't. He wanted to believe. He wanted to. Really.

But how?

"Peter?"

He blinked, flying out of his reverie. All eyes-minus Ilena's-were on him.

"What?" he said, quickly trying to remember what had been going on before he had slipped into _La-La Land._

"They're fixing Cair Paravel!" Lucy said quickly, beaming. "They're rebuilding it! Just like new! We could go home!"

"Not yet," said Caspian, chuckling quietly. "It is still under construction. I have my best men working on it around the clock, preparing it for your return. Two months and it should be finished."

He was refurbishing Cair Paravel. Building it up. Making it a home again. But what was home? Cair Paravel? Or England?

"That's fantastic," Peter said, trying to look excited. Inside, he felt a little nauseous. Where had this all come from? He certainly wasn't Lucy, but never before had he questioned Narnia's existence. What was happening to him?

What. Was. Happening.

"This is brilliant!" Edmund said, a large smile appearing across his cheeks. "Going home was never quite the same after living in a castle."

But no! Cair Paravel _wasn't_ home! It wasn't! Finchley was!

"Susan, isn't this great?" Lucy cried, shaking her older sister. Susan's smile came slowly, and didn't grow to be very wide or convincing.

"Yes," she replied, nodding. "It is, Lucy. Just great."

"Repairs are doing well so far. Surprisingly, no attacks have been forthcoming from the Cantricals," Caspian went on.

That surprised him.

"What?" Peter asked, not comprehending. "How is that possible?"

Caspian looked troubled. "I do not know," he admitted. "It makes me nervous. Each day I expect something atrocious to happen. But it never does."

Peter's mind went into overdrive, momentarily forgetting his distress at his mental state. Why hadn't the Cantricals attacked? Not only would it be an easy target, but such a blow to Narnia could create mass chaos and fear. All it would take was one little fire to show the people of Narnia exactly what the Cantricals could do.

It made no sense.

"How far are repairs now?" Peter inquired.

"The walls are just beginning to take shape," Caspian said with obvious pride.

Peter processed this, and something slid into place.

"They're waiting," he found himself saying. "They're waiting until the structure is done. Until the building is able to house people. Us."

Caspian's eyebrows furrowed. Doubt rounded the table.

"No, think about it! Destroying the frame means nothing. But if there are actual people inside… The effect will be much more devastating. They are waiting until they can make a statement."

Caspian was nodding now.

"It all makes sense!" Peter went on, adrenaline pounding through his veins. "They will use Cair Paravel as a trap. One we will willingly walk into."

"The only question is," Edmund chimed in, "what are we going to about it?"

OOOOO

It was hot. Not just warm. But blindingly, burning hot. As though the sun had moved a few hundred miles closer. Peter wished he could remove his shirt, socks, and boots. He would be much cooler if he did. But then he would have no protection.

Edmund charged, bringing his sword down hard. Peter's muscles, though tired from the heat wave, reacted instinctively, parrying the blow with ease. They were both covered in sweat. It ran down their faces, into their eyes, drenching their clothing.

But neither was about to give in.

The lunch/meeting had ended on a very defensive and very baffled note. Edmund's question had raised some very powerful ideas and plans, none of which would work. Dumbfounded, and desperately in need of some inspiration, they had decided to take a break and do something useful. Namely practicing their swordsmanship. Caspian had declined, saying he had important business to attend to. So it was just Peter and Edmund.

Maria, Lucy, and Ilena sat on the side of the Pit, watching, not chatting. Apparently, Maria had always loved watching a good sword match. It reminded her of her days as a young child. Lucy's mouth was agape, her eyes carefully following the intricate dance before her. Ilena merely remarked that she had nothing better to do.

Having an audience reminded Peter of when he had fought Miraz. Then he had been so focused on winning he hadn't noticed the eyes following his every move. This time, all he could think about was those watching. He sincerely prayed he wouldn't fall on his face. Like any other battle, however, he did soon forget about his spectators.

Peter slipped into another world when he was fighting. It felt real, and the potential danger of injury left a certain thrill in his bones, one he could never properly explain. For him, it was just natural, like fighting was in his blood, part of his general make-up.

He ducked, rolled on the dirt, sprang up, and lashed out. They fought with the dull side of the blade as best they could. Hurting each other wouldn't be helpful in the slightest. But when Peter fought, whoever was on the receiving end instantly became the enemy. Even when it was his brother. He constantly had to remind himself to hold back. Luckily, today didn't seem to pose this problem.

It was hot. Had he mentioned it was hot? The physical endurance, added to the already scorching temperature, made him sluggish and slow. Attacks that would normally take a split-second felt like an eternity.

At one point, he looked over at the girls and yelled, "I thought you were Mother Nature! Can you please create some shade? A cloud? Anything?"

Ilena laughed. "You'd like that wouldn't you? Don't be such a baby. This is a great work out!"

He wasn't being a baby. Frustrated, he jabbed Edmund a little harder than was necessary. Edmund winced, but did not cry out. Like Peter, he was caught up in the moment, all thoughts locked on a single purpose: To win.

They went on. A gentle breeze came and went, momentarily cooling Peter down. He wasn't sure if it was Ilena's doing or not, and he did not take the time to ask. Edmund had performed a particularly complicated move, and the question died on his lips. The sun shifted from the center of the sky, and slowly dipped toward the horizon. With it, the temperature fell, making the battle much more pleasurable.

Finally, Peter gained the upper hand. He ducked, slid his sword behind Edmund's calf, pulled, and Edmund tumbled into the dirt, losing all momentum. Peter aimed his weapon at Edmund's chest and said, "Dead."

And that was the end of it. The fight was over. Edmund groaned, and rubbed his eyes. Then, he pushed Peter's sword aside and staggered to his feet. "Cheater," he mumbled.

Peter resisted the urge to retaliate. He was tired. The battle had taken a lot out of him. Much more than he would let on. He firmly planted his hand on his brother's shoulder and said, "Next time, Ed." He grinned.

"Yeah, yeah."

Together, the boys made their way to the girls and plopped down onto the ground, breathing hard.

"That was really good," Lucy remarked, grinning.

"Yes," Maria agreed. "Very, very impressive."

Peter looked at Ilena.

"You need a bath," she said, wrinkling her nose, grinning.

He rolled his eyes. Nothing-not even her snide remarks-could bring him off the high of his victory.

"Thanks," Peter said.

"I can't believe I lost!" cried Edmund, glaring at his older brother. "That was a cheap move!"

Peter ruffled Edmund's hair. "Like I said, next time."

"Actually," Ilena cut in, raising an eyebrow, "that last move was the best one. Completely unexpected. Out of the blue. That's what wins battles. Surprising the enemy."

"Did you just say I did well?"

Ilena smirked and stood up. "Of course not. I was merely pointing out that you had a rare stroke of luck."

"Luck." Peter's jaw set.

"Yes, luck."

"Care to try your luck?" he suddenly challenged, something springing to life inside of him. He grabbed Edmund's sword and held it out to her. He ignored Edmund's cry of "Hey!"

Ilena stared at it thoughtfully, then said, "Don't go easy on me."

Oh, she needed to be taught a lesson! He had had enough of her sarcasm. It was time he earned some respect. Her respect.

"Don't worry," he replied, handing her the sword. "I won't."


	9. Length of Compassion

**9 - Length of Compassion**

* * *

Peter stalked out to the center of the Pit, rolling his head and cracking his knuckles. He was already loose from his battle with Edmund, so stretching wasn't necessary. Instead, he watched Ilena with interest, wondering if she knew what she was getting into.

She took her sweet time stretching. First, she placed her sword-Edmund's sword-on the ground. It gleamed in the light of the dying sun and gave off a low humming noise when her fingers left it. She flashed him a coy smile, before proceeding to flop over from the waist down and touch her toes. Her hair tumbled after her. She stayed like that for a moment, then, sinuously, without hesitation, she slid into a split, her left hand on her left foot in front of her, and her right hand on her right foot behind her. Peter cringed inwardly. The position looked very uncomfortable. Ignoring him, she pulled both arms behind her head and held them back, feeling a satisfying pop as her muscles relaxed. Then, at last, she stood up, grabbed the sword, and approached him with a wicked grin.

Wait. Had that all been for show? Was she trying to intimidate him?

She stopped walking, leaving about five feet between them. Her tiny, white slippers looked much too innocent against the harsh material of the Pit. Ilena reached up and tightened her ponytail, then slid into a warrior's stance, her sword aloft and ready. Her eyes dared him to move.

Oh, yes. She was trying to intimidate him.

Peter's face blazed as he matched her position. He expertly swung his sword out, making sure the point-the place she had touched only hours before-was aimed straight at her heart. Unfortunately, this only made her lip curl more. Peter ignored it and waited for Edmund's call, signaling the start of the match.

He had to win. He had to.

A moment passed when all they did was glare at one another. Then, Edmund's voice came out, loud and clear.

"Begin!"

And everything else became a blur. He forgot about Edmund. Maria. Lucy. They slipped from his thoughts, like water over a canyon wall. His surroundings merged together. He couldn't hear the birds singing, or the wind whipping through the trees. Everything that mattered stood before him, her lime, violet, hazel eyes locked on his.

Ilena changed her mind and instead made the first move. Big mistake. Without a sound, she charged at him, sword swinging.

He had just enough time to process what was happening before her sword slashed out at his head. He met it with a clang, thrusting himself downward to avoid the razor-sharp edge of her blade. Their weapons slid against each other, as though testing the other's value. Ilena leapt back, did a full pirouette, and brought her sword down again. Peter dodged it and mirrored her movement. Of course, he wasn't nearly as graceful as she was. But it got the job done. If she had been expecting it, she did not let on. She seemed to take his assault in stride, easily thrusting it away.

"Never copy an opponent's move," she said, as they circled each other. She lashed out at him, missing his left ear by a fraction of an inch. She went on. "It is far too predictable, and a trademark of any beginning warrior."

Peter grunted. So she was going to lecture him about proper battle technique? She obviously did not realize just how accomplished he was. He had been taught by Orieus. He was the High King. And no girl, Avella or otherwise, would undermine his position. Thinking this, Peter put all of his strength behind his next attack. His blade propelled itself toward her stomach. Ilena jumped up above the point, and then fluttered back to the ground.

"Don't use all of your energy in one blow." She danced in front of him, her legs criss-crossing so fast, he felt his eyes roll in his head. Suddenly, she was directly behind him, pulling his left arm behind his back painfully.

Where had that come from?

Peter bit his cheek to keep from yelling. He would not give her that. He felt her breath on the back of his neck. Just as the fire began to trail to his chest, she let go, and he was sent sprawling into the dirt. He landed with a loud _oof_. The pain receded, like a splinter being pulled from a wound. His face was flushed and heated, though from anger, frustration, or embarrassment he couldn't be sure.

His temper quickly rising, he pushed himself up and onto his feet. Ilena's eyes followed his every move, calculating. Peter brushed his hair out of his eyes, his muscles contracting. He was like a spring, loaded and ready to launch.

On the side of the Pit, Edmund, Maria, and Lucy were all watching intensely. This battle was much more violent, much more involved than the one Edmund and Peter had fought. If one didn't know any better, it looked as though Peter and Ilena were really trying to kill each other. The only difference between the two was their dispositions; Peter's obvious anger, and Ilena's calm, serene manner. Eventually, Edmund turned to Maria and said, "Care to wager on who will win?"

"Edmund!" Lucy cried, trying to keep from laughing.

"What? I was just creating a little friendly competition."

Maria was laughing as well. "I don't think I would bet on something like this. They are too evenly matched. A winner would be difficult to choose."

Not if you asked Peter. He was breathing hard, trying to ignore the fact that he was getting his butt kicked, and kicked hard.

By a girl.

Edmund would never let him live this down.

"Hey, pay attention!" Ilena barked, hitting his sword with more force than was necessary. "Day-dreaming during a battle is a big no-no. You drift off, you die." She hit his blade again. "Stand tall. Mind your surroundings."

Peter gritted his teeth. What made her so wise and knowledgeable? Who was she to tell him what to do? He rolled, reflecting her next hit. Information surged through his brain. She was slowly driving him back, toward the Pit's wall. He needed to get a grip and hold his ground before she could cage him in. His eyes zoomed across the landscape, trying to find something, anything that could aid him.

He caught sight of a root. It stuck out of the ground, knobby and bent. Its color matched the Pit's floor, perfectly inconspicuous without a keen eye. Ilena was heading straight for it. He got an idea. When she was practically on top of it, he surged forward, using his weapon as momentum. He seized her around the shoulders and pushed.

It didn't catch her by surprise. She twisted over the root, and fell to the ground, but he could see the realization in her eyes. She had been expecting it. Still, she let her sword fly from her grasp and out of sight. But then, something happened that made Peter freeze.

Before she collided with the hot dirt, she propelled both hands behind her head, and slammed them down. At the same time, she shifted her weight, throwing all of her muscle into flinging her lower body back. One cartwheel. Two. Three. She flipped through the air like an acrobat, and Peter could actually feel the wind sliding off of her. After her forth flip, she landed on the ground, standing beside her sword. She grabbed it and held it up, waiting.

The whole thing took about ten seconds.

"Never show your emotions," she reprimanded him, taking in his shocked face. "An opponent will use that against you. Keep your face lifeless." She ran-no, skipped-toward him, her hair swinging. Peter brought his weapon up, ready for the impact.

It didn't come.

When she was less than a foot away, she suddenly cast her blade aside, and brought her leg up. He didn't have time to react before the heel of her shoe slammed into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He groaned and stumbled back against the Pit wall. At the same time, his sword fell from his grasp. She caught it easily, swung it around and held it tight against his throat, pinning him down.

"Dead," she said simply, not removing the point from his jugular. Peter sent her a dirty look, breathing hard. Ilena glared back. She stayed like that for a moment, then lowered the blade. Placing it on the ground next to him, she started to walk away before, at last, Peter's brain caught up.

"Hold on!" he shouted angrily at her, rubbing the side of his neck. She turned back to face him.

"Yes?"

"That was not a fair fight!"

Her eyes hardened, stopping at a bright emerald flash before resuming their shifting bands.

"Whoever said I was fighting fair?" she inquired, putting her hands on her hips.

Her body language made his blood boil more quickly. "The point of sparring is to get better without seriously injuring each other! That was hardly an honorable duel."

"So I hurt you, did I?" When no reply came, a mischievous smile spanned her lips. "Look, the fact is, I beat you. You lost. If it had been a regular fight, you'd be dead. Period."

He strode forward, not noticing the nervous glances that were coming from the opposite side of the Pit. "You're completely missing the point!"

"Am I? I believe the point was to get better. Not to act like a baby." She jutted out her lips. "Man up, Peter. Out there," she said, flinging her hand out behind her back, pointing away from the castle. "Out there, there are no rules. No do-over's. If you're injured, keep fighting. Because if you don't, you'll get eaten alive. Those Cantricals are dangerous. Deadly. Given the chance, they will kill you. And they'll do it by the lowest and easiest means possible. They do not care for courtesy or decency or _honor_. They care about winning. And unless you want to die, I suggest you start focusing on winning as well."

Peter was at a loss for words. Had she seriously just told him to grow up? After the stunt she had pulled? Her trick had been well below the belt. And she knew it.

And she didn't care.

He flared his nostrils, desperately trying to manage the rising anger that seemed to be bubbling from his core. How anyone-especially a creation of Aslan-could be so annoying-so exasperating-he did not know. Breathing hard, he turned his back on her, stomped to the wall, swooped up his sword, carelessly slammed it into his sheath, turned back around and stomped toward the castle, each step leaving a deep imprint in the dirt. He barreled past her without a second look, feeling the eyes of Edmund, Lucy, and Maria on his retreating back.

As he disappeared from sight, Edmund turned to Lucy and shook his head.

"Hand it over," she said.

Reluctantly, Edmund parted with the coins from his pocket.

OOOOO

He could do this. He could do this. He could do this.

Oh, who was he kidding? He couldn't do _this_!

Caspian liked to think of himself as brave. In the span of fifteen years, he had fought and won a war, married, conceived a child, and managed to bring the Pevensies back to Narnia. Failure wasn't a regular part of his vocabulary.

But this. _This_.

How could something so simple leave him so anxious? It wasn't like they were strangers. Sure, they hadn't talked in over a decade, and yes, he was married now. But that didn't mean they couldn't have a perfectly civil, friendly conversation, did it?

Of course not.

Caspian rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants, combed his fingers through his hair, and stepped forward, his heart falling into the pit of his stomach. Susan's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates the instant he rounded the corner. She quickly snapped them back down to the book in her hands, her cheeks flushing.

"Hello," Caspian said awkwardly, shoving his still-wet palms in his tunic's pockets.

Susan's gaze rose back up to meet him. Slowly, so very slowly, she lowered the book into her lap. "Hello," her voice came out as a whisper.

"What is that you are reading?" he asked, walking over to her and sliding into the armchair on her left. The same chair his wife had claimed when she and Susan had met.

Susan held the book up wordlessly, struck by the repeated motion. "_Once Upon_. I just started it."

Caspian took the book from her and flipped through the page, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And what made you choose this book?"

Her cheeks reddened ten-fold. "I don't know. I just chose the first one my hand touched."

"Not the first," he murmured. Maria had told him all about their little chat, and Susan's choosing of her favorite book.

Susan did not respond.

"May I?" he said, motioning to the open page. She nodded and he began reading. "_And upon the field, so bathed in light, the maiden opened her mouth. Her heartfelt cry, her joyful laugh, woke the sparrows. They sang above the wind, calling and matching her. Together, they spoke of the faith she had in her loved one's return, and the happiness it brought her. And thus, her voice traveled so far, it met the one she spoke of. 'I shall not forget you', she called, and he answered, 'Nor I, you._'" Caspian closed the book, biting his lip. "Alec Q. Mazer was quite the poet, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded. "I…I haven't gotten that far yet."

"Indeed," Caspian said, finding her place for her. "Not very far at all." He held the book out to her, and she took it immediately.

"Might I inquire as to why you are here?"

"Do you want me to leave?" His heart fell from his stomach to his feet.

"No," Susan said, shaking her head. "But I thought you said you had important business matters to take care of."

"I did." He inhaled. "I needed to see you."

She froze.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I just…wanted to make sure you were not mad at me."

"Why would I be mad?"

"You have been avoiding me," he pointed out. "I know that my union with Maria might have come as something of a shock. But I never stopped caring for you, Susan. Then, as something more. Now, as a friend."

Susan suddenly stood up, trying to keep her voice steady. "I see. Well, rest assured, I am not mad in the slightest. I am…happy you found a wife. A family."

Caspian's eyes turned hard. No. No. _No_. This wasn't going at all how he had imagined it would.

"I thank you for your concern, Caspian. Really. But that doesn't change what has happened."

She threw him a sad look, then walked away, out of the library.

And perhaps, he thought with a sinking feeling, out of his life forever.

OOOOO

It seemed, with each passing night, the number of occupied seats at the dinner table diminished. Peter lowered the goblet from his mouth, taking a quick head-count. Ilena, Susan, and Caspian were all missing. Edmund was on guard-duty.

Across from him, Maria was listening adamantly to Lucy as she retold how the four siblings had ended up in Narnia in the first place. Their tale was inscribed in countless books, but Maria looked enthralled nonetheless. Maybe it was because she was hearing the story from an actual Queen of Old.

"Wonderful!" she said when Lucy had finished. She clapped her hands together brightly. "And to think, all that actually happened. It's like something out of a fairytale."

"So what about you?" the youngest Pevensie asked.

"Me?"

"Yes. How did you meet Caspian?"

Maria's lips parted into a wide, breathtaking smile, and for a moment, she looked like a school girl with a crush, not a queen fighting a war. "I lived in Telmar. Today, it's known as Old Telmar. You see, Telmarines used to live on an island in the middle of the sea. Before my husband was born, however, the monarchy shifted, and several ships were sent out from that island to the mainland. To Narnia.

"Caspian was born here, I was not. I lived on the island, until his coronation, when all of the remaining Telmarines on Old Telmar were brought to Narnia to witness the new king. I'm sure you remember that day. It was the same day you left."

Maria took a dainty sip of her wine and went on, "After you were gone, three years went by before Caspian began looking for a wife. He held a ball, in which he danced with all of the eligible maidens in the kingdom. I was one of them." Her cheeks tinged. "He ended up dancing with me eight times that night. And the rest is obvious. We fell in love, and were married less than six months later."

Lucy sighed. Peter felt embarrassed.

"Now that sounds like a fairytale," the youngest Pevensie said. "Like Cinderella."

"Cinderella?"

"Never mind her," Peter said, laughing. Of course Narnia had different fables. "If you don't mind my asking, when-?"

"Oh, any day now," the queen replied, her eyes flashing down to her enormous belly.

Lucy asked, "Is it a girl?"

"We don't know."

"I hope it's a girl."

"Lucy!"

"What?" Lucy cried, grinning.

Peter just rolled his eyes. "Well, I extend my most sincere, and late congratulations."

"Thank you," Maria said, taking another sip from her goblet. "Now, if it's not too bold, High King Peter, have you thought of taking a wife?" She gazed at him curiously, her large eyes wide.

Peter's cheeks flushed. Of course he had thought about it. Who hadn't? After all, he was of age. It would be only proper for him to find someone to start a family with soon. The only problem was no one had caught his fancy. Oh, there had been a few off and on back in Finchley. But none that he felt a deep connection with. They were all so….safe. Boring. Not exactly the right fit for someone who routinely wound up in an alternate dimension.

"I have," he said quietly, realizing that Lucy was smirking at him. "What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, shaking her head.

Maria nodded. "Good. Well, perhaps, while you are here, someone might catch your eye, Your Highness."

Peter smiled as best he could and busied himself with his soup. The thought of courting someone in Narnia, though smart, was impossible. True, they would connect with him in a way the girls back home could not. But it would never work. Deep down, Peter knew he would always have to return to England. Staying in Narnia was not an option. Besides, all of the girls he had previously met swooned at his feet. Not because of him, but because of his title.

And he really didn't need that.

OOOOO

It was too quiet. Every footstep, every breath, every blink seemed to ricochet off the granite, coming back ten times louder. Awkwardly, he shuffled down the tunnel, wondering why he felt so anxious. When he made it to the door, his question was answered.

Ilena, like the previous night, sat with her back to him. Only this time she was quiet. No rich note, or flowing chord graced her lips. She was sitting perfectly straight, like a statue.

Peter closed the door behind him, and the sound echoed loudly. Without turning back, she stood up. Her body was rigid, her expression tight and unreadable.

Even then, Peter knew something was wrong.

He walked toward the chair, ignoring the hateful looks the Cantrical girl shot at him. His anxiety spiked when Ilena finally looked at him. Her eyes were focused and deep, with just a hint of…something. Despair? Worry? He couldn't tell.

"Are you all right?" he asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder. All anger at her over the day's match had gone. At the last second, she ducked his hand and moved past him, her ballerina-slippers moving with unparalleled speed. She practically ran for the door and slipped out, not once looking back.

Peter stood where he was, his hand still aloft.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking about the cell.

The girl hissed, baring her teeth.

He shook his head, knowing he'd never get an answer.


	10. Meeting the Snake

**10 – Meeting the Snake**

**

* * *

**

Edmund shifted his weight, exhaling in obvious aggravation. His thoughts kept straying to the warm, comfortable bed that seemed to be calling his name. "_Edmund!_" it cried. "_Edmund!_" He leaned forward, putting his face in his hands.

The night seemed endless. There were no windows in the dungeon, so it was impossible to tell time. Had he guessed, he probably would have estimated three or four hours in the stiff chair, staring off into nothing. The room was inky-black, save for a single candle, whose light flickered off the cold slabs of stone.

In the cell, the Cantrical girl sat awkwardly against the wall, her eyes watching him like a wild animal preparing to take down its prey. Her bruise had turned a nasty, blotchy shade of yellowish-green, and spanned her forehead from left to right. The chains around her wrists hung limp on the dungeon floor.

Edmund finished counting the make-shift tiles on the ceiling for the hundredth time, wondering how in the world soldiers were able to do this for days, sometimes years, on end. He couldn't handle five minutes before boredom overtook him. He pushed his right leg out. The heel of his boot made a scraping noise against the granite. Smacking his lips, he continued jerking his foot along the rock until a sudden noise made him look up.

The Cantrical girl was hissing, her hypnotizing gaze following the outline he had carved into the floor. She had moved from her sitting position and was clinging to the bars so hard, her knuckles gleamed white. The hair on the back of her head stood on end.

"What?" Edmund said, allowing his frustration to creep into his voice. "You try sitting here for a couple of hours, and see how it feels." Of course, he forgot she had been sitting there a lot longer than he had.

She glared at him pointedly, growled a deep, throaty growl, and ran her wrist chain along the bars. The metals screeched when they came in contact. Edmund put his hands over his ears.

"Stop that!" he said when she was done.

For the first time in days, the Cantrical girl grinned, a sinister, sadistic smile. She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused with the reaction she had achieved. Raising her wrist, she repeated the motion. It was like nails on a chalkboard.

Edmund's face screwed up in pain, and he quickly got out of the chair, sending it toppling to the floor. "Stop that!" he shouted again, lowering himself to her eye level. Crystal-blue orbs stared back at him. He locked gazes with her, and blinked. Somehow, somewhere, he had seen a flash of intelligence behind that savage appearance. But then it was gone. He stepped back, leaving a good foot and a half between them. The girl just watched him.

"Thank you," he said, stalking back towards the door. He picked up the fallen chair, propped it up in the center of the room, and resumed his position. The whole time, the girl was silent. "You're supposed to say, 'You're welcome,'" he muttered under his breath.

The white knuckles detached from the bars, and fell to the floor. Edmund watched, noticing just how pale and mal-nourished the girl was. Her skin looked paper-thin, exposing the veins that ran through her body. Clumps of her hair were falling out, littering the bottom of the cell.

Beautiful wasn't a word he'd freely describe her with.

Yet, despite her ragged, beastly façade, the girl had a certain strength about her. She jutted out her lip in defiance, and held her head high. Her senses, near as Edmund could tell, were exceptionally strong. The slightest noise caught her attention, and she seemed to analyze every miniscule part of her surroundings.

Edmund bit the inside of his lip. His emotions were conflicting. She was an enemy, a murderer. She deserved to be punished. But…but she was still a human. A girl. He would be lying if he said the condition of her physical health didn't bother him.

But what could he do?

She had denied any and all food prepared for her. Whenever any of the Pevensies or Caspian offered her a roll, or piece of fruit, she would take one look at it, sniff it for a moment, then hiss and push it away. Truthfully, Edmund wondered how she was still alive.

Speaking of food, Edmund remembered he had brought an apple along with him. Just the thought of the mouth-watering treat made his stomach gurgle in anticipation. He had missed dinner, opting to do double the hours of guard-duty for Caspian, who had agreed to repay the favor the next night. As Edmund pulled the apple from his tunic pocket, he heard a groan. Confused, he looked up.

The girl was staring at the apple with a deep, thoughtful look. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was thinking.

She was hungry.

Edmund sighed, stood up and walked toward the cell. Immediately, she went on the offensive, baring her teeth and snarling. He rolled his eyes and bent down. The apple sailed through the bars and landed by her left foot. She gazed at it, her expression guarded. Then, slowly, she picked it up. She sniffed it, looking more primitive than ever. Edmund waited. Apparently satisfied, Edmund looked on in triumph as she put the fruit in her mouth and bit into it. She chewed it carefully, and then swallowed.

"There, see?" Edmund said, walking back to the chair. "It's not so bad."

The girl's head snapped up to him, and she surveyed him for a second. She looked down at the apple in her hands. Before Edmund could stop her, she launched it back through the bars. It bounced twice, then rolled underneath his chair, and slammed into the door.

Edmund's blood boiled. "Hey! What is wrong with you? You just wasted a perfectly good apple!"

The girl's sinister grin slipped back into place. Edmund bit his tongue to keep from shouting, and picked up the piece of fruit. The girl's deep bite mark covered a third of the surface. No longer appetizing, he pocketed the remains, and leaned against the door.

Still smiling maliciously, the girl crawled to the back of the cell and sat against the wall, so that she and Edmund were staring straight at one another. She didn't blink.

Edmund was now gnawing on the inside of his cheek. His eyes glazed over her, trying to break down the girl's impenetrable barriers. All the while, the girl smirked.

And guard duty went on.

OOOOO

For the first time in years, Peter slept in. Even as the light streamed in from the balcony window, he remained lost to the world. He wasn't dreaming, but rather somewhere in between the states of consciousness and unconsciousness. Emotions flooded his senses, and although he couldn't see the images that unaccompanied them, he knew his brain was exposing all of the confusion in his life: the surprise at returning to Narnia; the need to protect his siblings; the unhappiness at his failure; his frustration with Ilena; his hopelessness about the outcome of the war. Every tiny insecurity came alive.

When he did wake, he was groggy. Sleeping for great lengths of time never agreed with his body; it thrived on lack of rest. As such, the world felt hollow when his eyes at last opened. He groaned, squinted, and looked about his room.

Maria must have added her own touches, because there was no way Caspian could be so inventive. The walls were a muted green color, a sight that, at first glance, reminded Peter of the forest. The furnishings were rich oak, only adding to the nature theme, and the floor was carpeted in beige.

Peter stumbled out of bed, got dressed and headed out into the depths of the castle. He took the familiar path leading to the kitchens, wondering if Ilena would be there to greet him.

Ilena. Memories of the previous night, of her indifference to him, came soaring back. He racked his brain. What had caused that? He knew she was disappointed in his ability with a sword–check, _he_ was disappointed with himself. But that…that couldn't possibly be the reason for her cold, distant mood, could it? Peter walked through the kitchen doors, feeling a weight settle in his chest. She was nowhere to be seen.

_Where is she?_

Thinking Caspian might know, he exited and entered the dining hall. Caspian was indeed inside, his head inclined toward the table, in deep conversation with an intimidating-looking centaur. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Caspian looked up and said, "Oh, Peter. Thank Aslan you are here."

"What's wrong?"

"We have received word regarding the Cantricals, Your Majesty," the centaur said. His voice was deep and booming. Onyx-black eyes peered out from under a dark-brown coat. "They are coming."

"Where?"

"The ocean. Boat after boat is nearing our shore, each carrying an army." Caspian looked down again, and Peter realized he was inspecting a map. Needles poked out from the parchment, indicating where Caspian wanted his men, and where the Cantricals were positioned. Noticing Peter's interest, Caspian pointed at one of the needles placed in the center of the chaos. "I have you and your regiment of soldiers stationed here. We need to create a defensible wall, so as not to let any more Cantricals invade our land. Do not bother hiding, there is no coverage. I will be here," he pointed at another needle, "and Edmund will be here. You will lead the attack, and Edmund and I will close off the sides, preventing any from getting past our defenses."

"And here?" Peter asked, pointing to a section of the beach that was empty.

"My men will also take that side."

Peter nodded.

"We leave in five minutes. Prepare yourself, Peter. I shall meet you out front."

Nodding again, Peter slipped out into the hall. He returned to his room, quickly changed into his armor, grabbed his shield (his sword was already at his waist) and ran toward the main entrance. He sped outside.

"About time you showed up," Edmund remarked as Peter climbed aboard his horse. Peter grunted in response, and Edmund went on. "Did Caspian explain everything?"

"Yes."

"Well, good luck. You'll be leading the defense."

Peter froze. Of course when Caspian had told him he would be in the main group, he hadn't made the connection between that and his role as leader. But, really, leading was something Peter was used to, so the news did not shake him.

"Thanks. You, too."

Caspian walked out of the double-doors, followed closely by the centaur. Edmund's eyes traveled from his head, to his hooves. Seeing this, Caspian said, "Oh, yes. I forgot to introduce you. Peter, Edmund, this is my general, Zaian."

"An honor, Kings of Old," the centaur said, sliding into the best bow he could. His lower half made it difficult to kneel.

"And you," Peter said, inclining his head in respect. Edmund did the same. "May I ask where the rest of the soldiers are?"

"Outside the village. The presence of soldiers is not a welcome sight, especially in such troubling times. They shall meet us when we are outside the borders." Caspian took hold of his reins, and gave them a firm tug. "And now, on to battle."

Peter raised his own straps, preparing to egg his animal into motion, when a cry of, "Stop!" echoed across the grounds. He looked to the right, surprised by the sight that met him.

Ilena was bounding across the grass as fast as her legs could carry her. Her cheeks were red, unnaturally so. Her hair was wet and slick down her back, drenching her shirt. She didn't seem to care, though, and skidded to a stop in front of them.

"Stop!" she said again, staring the four men down. "You have no _idea_ what you are getting yourselves into."

"And you do?" Peter asked. His eyes flashed to the woods. What had she been doing in there?

"Actually, yes. I do. And believe me," Ilena cautioned, "this is one battle you cannot win."

Caspian's eyes smoldered. "With all due respect, Avella, what do you propose we do? Turn a blind eye to the problem at hand? This war must be fought. There is no alternative."

"Yes, it needs to be fought. I never said otherwise. But what I am _saying_ is that today is not the day. Today…" she looked around, her expression wild. "Can you feel it? It's in the air. Blood will be shed on this day. Despair. Evil is coming. The wind, the birds, they all speak of it. A force you know nothing about is coming. And it will destroy you all."

Peter bit his lip. He hadn't realized it before, but now that Ilena had pointed it out, he noticed that the grounds were silent. No bird calls, no breeze. Nothing.

"I will not," Caspian gritted through his teeth, "abandon my people." For once, he was not looking at Ilena with an appraising eye. His tone was vengeful. "I must fight for them. Today and tomorrow. Now, please, move."

Ilena put both hands on her hips, and Peter could almost see her temper coming unhinged. "Caspian, don't be an idiot! Why die today when you can live and fight again tomorrow? You. Have. To. Trust. Me."

Caspian stared at her for a long while. Peter felt the need to say something, anything to ease the tension in the air. After all, fighting among comrades right before a battle was not wise. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he remained silent.

At last, Caspian stirred. He maneuvered his horse around Ilena-whose expression was livid–and jerked on the reins, sending the horse into flight. Edmund seemed to consider the situation, then he and Zaian sped after the king. Only Peter remained. Ilena eyed him, pleading him to stay. A hint of desperation crept into her features. And for a moment, Peter considered her.

But then he remembered he had a job to do. Birds, or not. Painfully, he guided his horse around her and descended after the others. As his horse galloped, Peter looked back. Ilena was staring at him, her hands limp at her sides, her mouth open in a wordless _O_ shape. Slowly, she grew smaller and smaller, until, at last, Peter rounded a corner and she disappeared from sight.

The rest of the journey was a blur. Peter's thoughts were all locked on the impending battle. Today could very well be the day he died. Ilena had predicted death–perhaps his? What would happen if he died in Narnia? Would his body return to Finchley? Would his mother know? Peter knew he had been lucky in the past–several times he should have died, but hadn't. Naturally, he was grateful, but the question _Why?_ always nagged at the back of his mind.

The soldiers, as Caspian had instructed, joined them once they cleared the village border. Caspian and Zaian rode side by side, and Edmund and Peter followed. The ocean greeted them long before they caught sight of it; the salty sea-air tickled at Peter's nose.

Eventually, Caspian led them to a halt. They proceeded to break into regiments, Peter's by far the largest and meanest-looking. Edmund and Caspian broke away, taking their positions. Meanwhile, Peter led his group forward, right into the heart of the impending bedlam.

Caspian was right, there was no use hiding. The beach offered little coverage, so the soldiers lined up, perfectly conspicuous to the oncoming army.

The boats came in legions. Ten Cantricals occupied each vessel, which was attached to a sail that guided it forward. Strangely, everyone was silent. They all sat rigidly still, not taking their eyes off of the coming shoreline.

"You know the plan," Peter told his men, sliding his sword from his sheath. The head of Aslan gleamed in the light, and the soldiers seemed to straighten at its appearance. "We attack; plain and simple. Take no mercy, no prisoners. Don't let anyone beyond us. Remember, we're going for accuracy, not brute strength. Be quick, but keep a steady hand. And above all else, do not assume anything. They will fight dirty. In the name of Aslan, let us protect Narnia!" The men roared in response.

The boats drew ever nearer. As the gap between the two armies grew smaller, Peter noticed something stranger still. The Cantricals' eyes were not on his soldiers, but on one of the larger boats in front. He squinted to get a better look. A tall man (and Peter knew he was tall because, even when sitting, he towered over the others) was positioned at the bow, his cold blue eyes staring murderously at the shoreline. The long, dark cloak he wore flapped out behind him, giving the impression of an overly-large bat gliding across the water.

Peter felt a chill run up his spine for no reason. "Steady, men," he said quietly, trying to reassure himself. He assessed his surroundings. On his left was the edge of the forest where Edmund and his group were waiting. On his right, buried in the great, sandy dunes, were Caspian and his soldiers, fewer in numbers but just as ferocious. Behind him, the beach stretched back for miles. If any Cantricals happened to make it past them, they would know.

He turned back to the water. The first of the ships–the one with the man–was nearly to the shore. It rocked dangerously in the waves, which had increased to almost hurricane force. Peter rolled onto the balls of his feet, waiting. Just as the boat touched the sandbar, he held his sword up, ready to charge, ready to fight, ready–

"Peace," the man said, standing up. He held his hand out in front of him. Behind him, the Cantricals stirred, their eyes turning dark. The man hopped out of the boat and strode toward Peter. He had a squared jaw, rugged voice, and air of confidence. His impressive muscular build was visible even beneath his cloak. Peter took a warrior's stance. The man laughed in a chilling tone. "Peace," he said again. "I wish to speak to you. Should things go well, no war will need be fought on this day."

Peter didn't relax. "I'm listening." He tried to ignore the fact that the man was at least five inches taller than him. And Peter wasn't short.

"Wonderful. Before anything more is done, however, I believe an introduction is in order. I am-"

"A snake?" a familiar voice called from behind Peter. Peter didn't turn, not daring to remove his eyes from the man in front of him. Ilena slid up beside him; he could feel the heat waves pouring off of her, most likely the anger she still felt at being ignored. She had a belt and sword around her waist. "A traitor?"

How had she gotten here?

"Now, now, traitor is such a harsh word," the man said, chuckling. "Ilena, my dear, long time no see." His eyes ran up her body.

Ilena stiffened, but did not rise to his bait. "Sylas," she said simply. Her head rose up to gaze at him fully. It was almost comical how tiny she looked compared to him.

They knew each other! Peter suddenly felt very confused.

The man called Sylas lowered his hands and took a step at her. His eyes, as blue as the Cantricals', came alive. He shook his head, sending his messy, brown locks flying.

Ilena didn't back down.

"Still angry, I see. You know, revenge is not good for the soul. Or, so they tell me."

In that instant, Peter knew that something bad had occurred between them in the past. His insides clenched at the thought.

Ilena raised an eyebrow, her expression blank. "It does not surprise me that this is your doing," she said.

"Ah, yes. Quite an uprising isn't it? People are so easy to manipulate. Makes me miss the good ol' days when it was more of a battle." He sighed in mock depression. "I assume you know why I'm here, then? Or did you fail at that too?"

"Leave, Sylas." Ilena's tiny hands molded into fists.

"I would, but I have a proposition to make." He turned to Peter. "Or a war to fight, depending."

"They won't do it."

"Oh?" Sylas laughed. "Perhaps not my first demand"–Peter's eyes widened-"but I doubt they care enough about you to not give in to my second."

"Demand?" Peter asked. He was still locked in a fighting pose. Beside him, the soldiers watched with interest. The Cantrical boats were bobbing unevenly in the raging waters.

"Yes, demand," Sylas said. He fixed his hair, which had been mussed even more by the breeze, then cracked his knuckles. "This is what I have to say: Forfeit the crown, name me king, and give this," he glanced at Ilena, "to me."

Peter almost laughed. Were it not for the serious tone of Sylas's voice, he might have.

"Or?"

"Or I shall destroy you, your family, and all of Narnia."


	11. The Fallen Angel

**CHAPTER 11 – The Fallen Angel**

He was crazy. No, worse than crazy. The man needed a straight-jacket. Now, Peter wasn't one to judge prematurely. He had learned the hard way to never underestimate an opponent. But this… Sylas's voice rang with confidence, and Peter's eyes narrowed in response. How could he be so sure that he would give into his demands?

"Over my dead body," Ilena hissed, her rapidly-changing eyes tripling in speed. The flashes were so quick, Peter thought she might spontaneously combust.

"Something I hope never comes to pass, my dear," Sylas said greasily. He glanced at her before returning his gaze to Peter. "Do we have a deal?"

"You mean, do I give up, let you take over Narnia, and kill everyone I know and love?" Peter inquired sarcastically. He knew that someone plotting to overthrow the monarchy would never keep his end of the bargain. "No."

"Leave _now_, Sylas," repeated Ilena.

Sylas's face twitched, as though he was trying very hard to not strangle them. "And that is your final answer?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "And this could have been so easy and painless. Oh, well. More fun for me, I suppose." Suddenly, the pupils of his eyes contracted so small, they were impossible to see. Then, they shot out in huge dimensions.

Something came alive inside of Peter. Anger. Annoyance. Infuriation. Rage. It all bottled up inside of him, twisting his thoughts, marring his view of the world. He felt undeniable and illogical hatred toward the beach. To the water. To Ilena. To his soldiers. To Caspian. To his family. To himself. He wanted to strike out; to take his agitation out on all of those around him. He gripped the hilt of his sword with more force, his jaw setting with a sickening crack.

"SYLAS!" Ilena said sharply.

Peter growled. Her voice was much too loud. He could hear the power in it, the control. How he despised that control. Feeling his adrenaline sky-rocket, he faced his body toward the girl on his right and let out a low breath. Ilena's eyes flashed to him for a fraction of an instant, and her own expression became enraged. Peter watched the emotions cross her angular face and desperately, almost hungrily wanted to wipe them off. But then she inhaled slowly and her face relaxed into an unreadable, blank look.

He wanted to kill her.

Meanwhile, Sylas, who was watching the whole thing with a malicious grin, chuckled gaily and murmured, "You see, Ilena? So easily manipulated. The mere scratch of my nose, or flex of my muscles, and he'll murder everyone within a ten mile radius."

"You've made your point," Ilena said, not taking her gaze off of Peter. Peter's breath was low and ragged, giving the impression of a winded cheetah.

He wanted to kill her. Just one swipe, that's all he needed. Just a little poke through the chest… Then she'd never speak again.

"No, no, no," Sylas shook his head. "I'm just getting started. You see, I'm not much fond of being turned down. It hurts my feelings. And our friend here, well, he refused my gracious proposition. That annoys me."

Ilena stood rim-rod straight. "And how would it be if he killed me? Would that please you?"

"Heavens, no. I have much bigger plans for you." He sighed in disappointment. "I suppose I should call him off. Don't need him attacking my bride." With that, he waved his hand nonchalantly.

Peter came off the high. Slowly, so very slowly, his emotions settled. His previous infuriation at Ilena's breathing, her blinking, the way her hair moved in the wind – it disappeared. Confusion took its place. What had just happened? He had never felt so angry. So murderous. His eyes flashed to Sylas. Who _was_ he?

"Bride?" Ilena choked, her voice betraying the calm façade she was trying so hard to maintain.

"Yes, bride." Sylas waggled his finger at her. "You didn't honestly think I would attempt to rule Narnia alone, did you? No. I need someone to stand by my side. Who better than you?"

Ilena exhaled roughly, and for the briefest of moments, her eyes stopped, turning midnight-black. A powerful gale blasted across the dunes, sending sand and rock shooting in all directions. Tiny fragments cascaded down Peter's body. He cupped his hands around his eyes to keep from getting hit. Sylas cackled, putting both palms on Ilena's shoulders.

"Now, now," he said. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Hey, let her go!" Peter said, finding his voice. He closed the gap between himself and the giant, clasping his hands around Sylas's wrists and thrusting them away. He shoved himself between the two. Ilena flashed him a dangerous look.

"Aww," Sylas cooed. "How sweet. You're little boyfriend is going to protect you."

"I don't need protecting!" Ilena shot back. Roughly, she pushed Peter aside, as though he weighed nothing.

"Oh, but you do. And there's no Aslan to come to your rescue this time."

Ilena hissed, the air whistling as it escaped through her clenched teeth. Suddenly, lightning split the sky, illuminating the stormy clouds that loomed on the horizon. Waves crashed, sending up a shower of foam that frothed madly. The boats, still occupied by the Cantricals, bobbed on the surface, sending bodies flying in all directions.

Sylas chuckled.

The wind howled. Peter felt it blasting against his armor. Behind him, his soldiers were all screaming in terror, taken aback by the sudden shift in weather. Ilena's tiny hands were balled up into fists, and glowing bright white. Thunder crashed. A raindrop fell.

"ILENA!" Peter screamed over the sound of the gales that seemed to rip the skin right off his face. She didn't respond. Her eyes were dead-locked on the man in front of her. The droplets soon turned into showers, which then progressed into a full-on downpour. "ILENA!" Peter staggered against the wind, and reached out. Somehow, his hand found her shoulder and he squeezed it as hard as he could.

Everything stopped. The clouds vanished, the rain disappeared, and the wind died down into a gentle breeze. Within seconds, the sun gleamed, bright and hot. It was as if nothing had happened. The only sign of what had just occurred were the mounds of rock piled high on the newly-formed dunes, and the swearing and cussing of the soldiers who clambered to their feet.

Ilena's shoulders relaxed under his grip. She seemed to have been knocked out of whatever force had just seized her. Her eyes softened, then gently resumed their pattern. They flickered to Peter, whose mouth was agape.

"Temper, temper," Sylas remarked. "Best be careful, my love. Anger is not your best color." He then turned to Peter, his eyes lighter than ever. "So, it seems we have a dilemma on our hands." When Peter remained silent, he continued. "I wish you luck, High King. With me as your opponent, you'll need it." Sylas turned around and headed for his boat. His gaze glazed over Ilena. "Until next time, my sweet. I look forward to our union. Oh, and it'd be best to take them home, now. I want rested adversaries. Makes things so much more interesting. Unless…you're too weak for that as well."

Ilena's hand shot out and grabbed hold of Peter's arm painfully. He sucked in some air and turned to look at her, but she was ignoring him. "Until next time," she repeated. And then, she began to fade. Her skin turned transparent, and her body took on the form of the sand behind her. Her eyes blazed like a raging inferno, and Peter could feel her shaking. Sound lost all meaning as it blended together to form a single, chaotic melody. Next, the scenery blurred, and Peter couldn't discern the different shapes in front of him. There was a bright, white flash; Ilena tugged on his arm again, and then they vanished on the spot.

They crashed down into something hard, and Peter's vision swam. Stars peered down at him, mocking his drunken expression. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, at the same time, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Behind him, he could hear great, shuddering gasps. Blinking to rid himself of the contorted images before him, he glanced back. Somehow – Peter guessed Ilena had something to do with it – he was back in the dining hall of Caspian's castle. The girl in question was currently flattened against the wall, breathing hard, her face unnaturally pale. Her usually-sleek ponytail was disheveled, and single strands of hair popped out of the tie.

"What happened?" came Edmund's voice. It was then that Peter realized they were not alone. Edmund and Caspian were sprawled out on the floor, wearing similar looks of confusion. They had both seen the confrontation with the man, but still, they had no idea what was going on.

"I'm not sure," Peter said. How had they ended up here? The last thing he remembered was Ilena's body fading and then the bright light.

"Avella?" Caspian whispered, crawling over to Ilena's side. Her chest was rapidly heaving, as though she wasn't receiving enough oxygen. Gently, Caspian touched her arm.

Ilena didn't respond.

"We may have a problem," said Caspian, glancing up at the brothers. They exchanged nervous looks.

"Ilena?" Peter dragged himself to her side, and Edmund followed suit. "Ilena?"

The second time did the trick. At the call of her name, she turned to look at him, her eyes dazed and hollow. Her lips parted in wordless agony, and Peter could see the energy it was taking just to keep her heart beating.

What the? How had this happened?

"Someone get a healer!" he was suddenly shouting. Ilena cringed.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice cracking. Several more deep breaths.

"No, you're not," Peter told her. For once, he wished she would just let go of her pride or whatever it was that kept her from accepting help from others.

Ilena inhaled deeply, raising a weak arm to steady herself on the wall. "Just tell me," she said, "what you had for lunch."

"For lunch?"

"Yes. Because-" _gasp_ "-obviously a certain-" _gasp_ "-High King ate a little too much.-" _gasp_ "-That-" _gasp_ "-was way too hard."

Despite the concern he felt for her well-being, Peter chuckled. If she was insulting him, she was fine. He stood up and gripped her shoulder as she pushed herself off the floor. Her legs swayed beneath her. Her whole body shook from head to toe.

"Are you sure, you're alright, Avella?" Caspian inquired, his face drawn in tight lines.

"Never better." Ilena held her hands out in front of her, trying to keep from falling over. She braced her back against the wall. Her breathing slowed slightly, and her cheeks regained some of their color.

"What happened? How did-" Peter started.

"I brought you here," Ilena interjected. "And let me tell you, it was no easy task. Not only was I transporting you, but your regiments as well. That is the only reason for my exhaustion: I've never done a group so large. Usually when I fade, I am alone."

"Fade?" Edmund said.

"When I move between worlds," Ilena clarified. "Usually I'm going from Earth to Narnia, or vice-versa. But I needed to get you guys out of there fast. So I faded."

"But…why?"

"Sylas." Ilena spat the name so viciously, Peter thought she was trying to rid her mouth of it. "He would have – was going to kill you. You should have listened to my warning. He is not a force you want to play with."

"Who is he?" Edmund asked, his dark eyebrows knit together.

Ilena laughed dryly. "You've never heard of Sylas? Is there anything you _have_ heard of?" Their blank looks – even Caspian wore one – made her groan. "Story time, kiddies." She motioned at the dining table. "Sit."

They did as they were told. Ilena remained propped up on the wall. She exhaled a few more times, then asked, "Have you ever heard the story of the Fallen Angel? I thought not.

"To put it as simply as possible: Sylas is an Avella. Though, I suppose 'was' would be a better description. Way back, when the original magic of Narnia was written, Sylas coexisted with the other Avellas. He was a member of our ranks. Aslan created him from the leftover magic of the world. He was the last of the original Avellas.

"Sylas is a unique individual. His powers, so to speak, vary widely from the rest of us. Whereas mine, or Father Christmas's delves into nature, and the natural order of the things, and the individual life of a person, Sylas deals with the mind." She looked at Peter. "You grew angry out on the beach, do you know why?" He shook his head. "Because Sylas made you that way. He manipulated your emotions, clouded your judgment. He took your deepest, darkest fears and views of the world and twisted them. He had ultimate control over you."

"How?"

"Magic. Simple as that. He can sense thoughts and emotions. He grasped yours and used them to his advantage." Ilena pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. It was obvious she had a headache.

"Sylas wasn't always a bad person, don't get me wrong. His original purpose was to fill the inhabitants of Narnia with happiness and well-being. He was supposed to ease troubled minds. The problem lies in the solution, I'm afraid. You see, he grew so overwhelmed by the sadness, anger, jealousy, and spite that every living being felt, after awhile, he couldn't fight it. He succumbed to all of the bad thoughts and feelings, and eventually morphed into the sadistic jerk you had the pleasure of meeting."

"But what about Aslan?" Edmund asked. "Why didn't he do something?"

Ilena sighed. "There was nothing he could do. Sylas had already fallen so low, and turned on everyone he loved and who loved him, there was no hope of bringing him back. So Aslan did the one thing he could: He banished Sylas from the Avellas. He imprisoned Sylas within the darkest corners of his own mind, thinking it might keep him from returning. As you have now seen, such is not the case.

"Over the years, legend spread of his betrayal. Some were sympathetic, claiming that Sylas had no control over his actions. They named him the Fallen Angel, someone who had tremendous potential, but could never live up to what he was meant for. Others, the angry ones, gave him a very different name. They called him Snake. A name, in many cases, well deserved."

"So that's how you knew him," Peter murmured after a moment. "He was created when you were."

"Yes," Ilena said, her face tense. "In the beginning, I knew him."

"And he's the one controlling the Cantricals?" Edmund asked. He had already worked it all out. "That's why they are so ruthless? Because he is controlling their emotions?"

"Yes," Ilena said again. "He is using his gifts to wage war on Narnia. Perhaps he believes it will destroy the hatred that many still harbor for him."

"You warned me. When we sparred." Peter's eyes suddenly went wide. "You told me to control my emotions. You knew about him all along, didn't you?" His insides grew hot.

"No. I did not. My words were merely advice to help your fighting technique, not to face Sylas. I did not know of him until last night. When you took over guard duty…I had just realized the truth. I had to go to the woods, to listen to the animals and trees. They confirmed my suspicions. So I tried to tell you this morning. But did you listen? Of course not."

There was silence, and then, "At least no one got hurt," Caspian remarked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't know about that," Ilena said flatly, sucking in some air. "Fading with you all was no small feat." She slipped the band out of her hair, still holding the tendrils aloft in the air, then combed through them, and tightened the ponytail high on her head.

"How do you fade?" Edmund wanted to know.

"I picture the place I want to be and focus all of my energy on it. It's one of the powers that Aslan granted all of the Avellas."

"Wait," Peter said, holding his hands up to stop them from continuing. "Does that mean Sylas can fade with the Cantricals and bring them here?"

Ilena shook her head. "No, because he's never set foot inside this castle. He does not know what it looks like. And besides, it was bad enough transporting you all here, plus your troops (who are outside by the way.) Remember Sylas deals with the mind. That means all of his physical powers, such as fading, are not nearly as strong as, say, my own. The energy needed to move such numbers would kill him."

"So, we're safe, then?"

"For now."

"Good," Caspian remarked with a sigh, putting his face in his hands, and leaning on the table. By doing so, Peter thought, he aged himself about twenty years. He looked like a King who had been beaten down for far too long.

Ilena nodded. Peter noticed that she was still breathing hard.

"Are you _sure_ you're ok?" he asked her, concerned.

"Of course," she said off-handedly. "I'm an Avella. I can handle it."

Edmund bit his lip, a nervous habit. "So, if Sylas can control people…how do we beat him?"

Peter realized where Edmund's thoughts were going. If someone could control thoughts and emotions, how could they be defeated? Sylas, as Ilena had explained, could make Peter feel whatever he wished. What if Peter became so angry, or depressed, he could no longer fight?

"Easy," replied Ilena, forcing Peter to snap back to the present. "We kill him. Because, by killing him, we kill his influence. BAM – problem solved."

"But how do we know that the Cantricals will not simply continue to attack us after he's dead? What if they hate Narnia so much, they cannot control it?"

"That," Ilena answered, "is something we'll have to find out the hard way."

"Can he control your emotions?" Peter remembered the way her eyes had stopped, and the beach had come alive, as though she was channeling herself through it.

Quietly, she said, "No. He cannot."

"But why-"

"That was my own doing." Ilena sighed and put her face in her hands, much like Caspian had done only minutes before. She laughed, but her tone was sorrowful. She raised her head. "I chose to act that way."

"Why?" Peter asked again.

Her eyes blazed.

"Because," she said seriously, and Peter knew she was dropping the subject.

"So, we're going to fight this, then?" Edmund asked, noting the sudden shift in the room.

Ilena looked up at him, and inhaled. Her cheeks were no longer pale; her body was rigid and tight. Whatever pain she had been in had finally subsided.

"Without a doubt."


	12. For a Reason

**CHAPTER 12 - For a Reason**

Lucy sighed. Wild flowers tickled her face, coaxed on by the pleasant breeze. Several trees loomed over her, filtering in the sunlight. Rays washed over her, warming her.

But none of that mattered. No, the only thing Lucy was aware of was the string of thoughts bouncing around in her head. She closed her eyes and visions of Aslan filled her mind. She had been thinking of the Great Lion quite a bit upon returning to Narnia. A good deal of her musings centered on his whereabouts, and how soon he would appear to aid them.

If he would aid them, that was.

Though she had the utmost faith in him, she couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't intervened yet. Both of her brothers had nearly been murdered by the Cantricals, and still he didn't come. What - exactly - had to happen before he felt it necessary to lend a paw?

Of course, he had to know what he was doing. He was Aslan. If he chose to remain hidden, there was no doubt a reason for it. Perhaps, like when Caspian and her brothers and sister had fought Miraz, they had to prove themselves first. Perhaps Lucy needed to prove something.

_Things never happen the same way twice_.

Lucy absent-mindedly played with her hair, which was pulled into a plait on the back of her head. She felt…well, she didn't really know what she felt. Angry that her siblings seemed to think she was incapable of fighting in the war alongside them? Hopeful that the war would soon be over? Sad that she had yet to see Aslan? Frustrated with Susan's purposeful shunning of her destiny? Happy that she was back in Narnia in the first place?

All of the above, truthfully.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Lucy rolled her head back at the voice. Ilena stared down at her, a soft smile on her lips.

"Please do," Lucy said, patting the patch of grass next to her. Ilena crouched down on the spot, and eased herself onto her back so that she and Lucy were lying side by side. The two girls gazed at one another for a moment, then broke into identical grins.

"Thank you," Ilena said, her voice faint.

"Are you alright?" Lucy asked, concerned. Usually when Ilena spoke, her tone was strong and full of confidence. Now it sounded weak and small.

The Avella nodded after a second, her expression thoughtful. "Yes. Just tired." She closed her eyes, letting the sunbeams pool over her. "It's been a long day."

"Why? What happened?"

"Oh, the usual: Caspian and your brothers were nearly killed." Ilena smiled, and Lucy watched as the flowers around her grew half an inch.

Awed, she reached out and touched the nearest petal. "That's brilliant," she whispered. "How do you do it?" Lucy, unlike her siblings, still retained more than her fair share of imagination. Things that were impossible to others she took in stride. The tiniest hint of magic always left her feeling unnaturally happy.

Ilena laughed, her eyes still shut. "It just happens. I can control it, but, for the most part, it all happens subconsciously. Usually I don't even realize I'm doing it."

"Can you make something else happen?"

"Of course." Ilena wrinkled her nose, her face still at ease. A butterfly floated down and landed on it, its wings rapidly beating. The purple and blue pattern it displayed with pride seemed to melt together as it fluttered. Ilena's smile widened. "Be gone, dear one," she said, and the butterfly sprang into flight. It circled them twice before swooping away, carried on by a breeze.

Lucy watched it go, feeling her spirits lift. She turned her head back to Ilena, and propped her arms behind her head. The long sleeves of her dress were scrunched up around her elbows. Something clicked.

"What about trees?" she asked eagerly. She remembered the day they had returned and Edmund had been hurt, than she had crossed the meadow, hoping to gain assistance from the trees. At the time, they hadn't responded. Maybe if Ilena… But then, she realized she was being very rude, and shut her mouth. Ilena looked so peaceful sprawled out on the ground.

"What about them?" Ilena said, not sounding annoyed in the least.

"Well, they used to dance."

Ilena's eyes opened. She gazed at the youngest Pevensie, her face a mixture of joy and confusion. "And they don't anymore?"

"No."

"Hmmm," Ilena murmured. She suddenly pushed herself off the ground. Lucy sat up, watching as she approached the nearest giant. Ilena pressed her hand against the trunk. Her eyes narrowed, and a slight glow appeared around her wrist. "Interesting," she said, grinning. She pulled her palm away and gazed at the wood, then called out, "Wake-y, wake-y!"

At once, the trees came to life. Leaves and flowers flew down from the top-most boughs, enveloping the two girls in a mini-cyclone. The wind tugged at Lucy's hair playfully. She laughed in response and stood up. Swirling madly, the current left her, and morphed itself into the figure of a woman. The tree-spirit leaned forward, and waved. Lucy waved back.

Behind her, Ilena had set to work on the other trees. "Up and at 'em!" she sang at the top of her lungs, tapping each tree lightly. "Beauty sleep is great, but we have a queen to impress!" More and more figures appeared as Ilena worked her magic.

After she was done, Ilena plopped back down on the ground, taking up the spot she had previously been lying in. Her eyes watched Lucy carefully.

"Well, what're you waiting for?"

Lucy glanced over. The figures had formed a wide arc around her, all playing with her hair or attempting to guide her forward.

"Well what?"

"Dance," Ilena instructed. She gestured to the tree-spirits, almost lazily. "They're all waiting."

Without hesitation, Lucy danced.

So far, the day had proved frustrating. Being manipulated by an Avella, watching Ilena almost die, spending hours on end trying to think up a plan - all Peter really wanted was to crawl up in bed and sleep for a couple of hours. But he was High King, and although Caspian was technically in charge, Peter knew he had both an image, and a job to uphold.

"Let's go over it again," Caspian said, for what Peter felt was, the hundredth time. His hand was dancing across the map in front of them, forming tiny circles, and wide arcs depending on the location he traced over. "We know they have taken over this section-" he pointed toward the sea "- and we believe they will move here." He moved across the parchment. "If we were to station our troops here-"

"We won't catch them by surprise. No matter what we do," Edmund interjected, his face screwed up in concentration. "If what we know about them is true, they move quickly and efficiently. They've ambushed us several times. I think we should give up trying to be sneaky. What we need is unparalleled speed so that we can outrun them."

Peter nodded. His brother was amazingly talented when it came to war tactics - somehow Edmund just seemed to know what the enemy would be thinking. Of course, it helped ever more to know who they were dealing with.

"The question is how," he went on. "Sooner or later, they will stage an attack on this castle - that much is certain. Ilena said Sylas can't fade into a place he's never been before, which means he'll come knocking down our door in order to gain the advantage. We need to push them back, away from this castle."

"What if we were to go into hiding? I'm sure Ilena knows a few places we could stake it out until we come up with a better plan," Peter offered.

Caspian shook his head furiously. "And abandon my people? I think not. We would have to take them with us for their own safety. I doubt Ilena would be pleased, or even able to transport that huge of a number without killing herself."

"The point," Edmund said, just as Peter opened his mouth to retaliate - if they went in groups, surely Ilena could do it - "is that we can't put our fate into her hands. She's helping, yes, but ultimately, this isn't her war. And besides, Sylas would just keep hunting until he found us."

The four - Zaian was also present - fell silent. They kept coming back to the same option: To fight. It wasn't what they wanted, but none could think up an alternative. No matter what, the battle would occur. It was just a matter of when and where. To fight on their terms could result in fewer casualties on their side, but it meant taking the battle to Sylas, who they knew would only manipulate their emotions and thoughts. Suffice to say, a solution continued to evade them.

"What if we did it in small chunks?" Peter asked, attempting to formulate an idea. Ilena's ability to move about drastically helped their cause. "She could fade tiny groups at a time and, eventually, all of the soldiers would be in one place, ready to attack."

Edmund looked doubtful.

"Just think about it for a moment. Sylas is going to use his magic - that's the bottom line. It doesn't matter what we do - it's going to happen. We have to accept it. Instead, we should be focusing on what we will do once his abilities start to affect us."

"Didn't Ilena say he can't control her?" inquired Edmund.

"Yes."

"Then pit her against Sylas." Peter exhaled, but Edmund ignored him. "Forget that she's a girl. She's the only one who had dealt with Sylas before, and he can't do anything to her. Plus, she's an Avella; you saw what she did on the beach."

"And knowing her," Peter said dryly, "she'll probably jump at the chance to take him down. I got the feeling they aren't on the best of terms." He quickly described the conversation that had flowed between the two.

"She may be our only chance," Edmund remarked.

"I don't like it," said Peter.

"Nor I," Caspian agreed. "But, if you remember what she said about your encounter with Father Christmas, Avellas were created to restore peace to Narnia until Aslan returns. She is here to help us."

Peter gripped the side of the table roughly, his mind spiraling. He hated feeling helpless. Sylas had rendered them unable to defend themselves. To defend Narnia.

He. Hated. It.

"And there is nothing else we can do?" he asked, wishing someone would disagree.

"I do not believe so. This may be our only option."

Peter sighed. "So be it."

"You have guard duty after her, correct?"

"Yes."

"Best of luck asking her, then," Edmund said, grinning from ear to ear.

Peter resisted the urge to groan. Lately, luck hadn't been on his side.

Why did she keep coming back here?

Susan tip-toed through the halls quietly. Really, she didn't need to; it wasn't like she was breaking a law or anything. But something in the back of her mind willed her to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Carefully, she grabbed the handle, turned it, and pried the door to the library open.

As far as she could tell, the enormous space was empty. Candles flickered in their holdings, giving the room an eerie look that only strengthened her guilt-ridden conscious. She moved to the shelf on the far wall and peered along the spines until she found the one she was looking for.

Upon finding it, she tugged it from its companions and held it in her hands, gazing at it with a confused expression. The worn cover gleamed back up at her, daring her. She clutched it to her chest as she snuck back out of the library and practically ran to her room. The door swung shut behind her with a muted thud.

Once back inside the safety of her personal quarters, she locked the door and slid onto her bed. Taking a deep breath, she mentally prepared herself.

Why did she feel so weird? Books were her friends.

Get a grip, she chastised herself. Then, before she could stop, she opened the first page and began reading. The words curved before her eyes as she dissected sentence after sentence. An hour passed, then two. Slowly, Susan's guard when down. With each page turn, she grasped the love that seemed to seep through the ink.

And into the night she read, lost in Maria's world.

_Screeech_!

The sound erupted as soon as Edmund crossed the landing into the dungeon. The girl in the cell was beaming madly, as though she had been waiting all day for this moment. As he approached her, she rolled against the back of the wall, putting as much space between them as she could.

Edmund scoffed, not even attempting to hide his distain. The metal tray he held was laden high with food; another attempt to get the girl to eat. He lowered it to the floor and tossed one, two, three apples between the bars. The fruit bounced to the girl, and she caught it with ease.

"Eat up," he told her. "Caspian is taking my shift tonight, and he's not nearly as entertaining as I am."

The girl raised a quizzical eyebrow, her lips parting in confusion. Edmund wondered if she understood what he had just said. He also wondered what she would be like if Sylas did not control her.

Surprisingly, the girl picked up one of the apples and bit into it. For a moment, he watched her. Then, remembering that it was his night off, he strode away from the cell. He pushed open the door leading to freedom. At the last second, he looked back at her. She was staring at him, the apple already halfway finished. Edmund suppressed a smile and walked out.

The sound of feeding followed his retreating footsteps.

Eight hours later, Peter took the same path. However, unlike his brother, he was walking toward the cell. He had been considering how to best approach the subject with Ilena. Though he knew she would agree to the plan without a second thought, he wanted to make sure she grasped exactly what they were asking of her.

He really needed to stop treating her like damsel in distress. Ilena was more than capable of taking care of herself - she had proved that time and time again. But still. She was a girl, and it felt like he was forcing her to walk to her death.

Sooner than he realized, he was in gliding through the door leading into the dungeon. Like the previous night, Ilena was quiet, and her back was rigid. Peter vaguely wondered what had happened between her and Sylas, because whatever it was, it had obviously left a lasting impression on her. She made no attempt to move as he walked toward her.

"My turn," he said, and he thought of the first time they had switched.

Ilena didn't look up. Peter's gaze furrowed and he bent down. She was staring off into space, her lips forming a deep line across her face. Gently, he reached out and waved his hand in front of her eyes.

She snapped back to the present. "What?" she asked. Then she caught sight of him. "Oh, hi. Sorry about that."

"It's fine." He shuffled, putting his hands behind his back awkwardly.

"So," she said, standing up, not noticing his discomfort. Peter suddenly realized how short she was compared to him. "What's the consensus?"

She hadn't been there during their debate. Peter suspected she was more worn out than she let on.

"We have an idea," he answered. "But it's kind of dangerous."

She waited. Peter was momentarily stunned by her eyes.

"Caspian and Edmund think it'd be best, since you are not affected by Sylas, that you face him alone." She didn't look surprised, so he continued. "This is purely for the safety of our men."

Ilena nodded, showing her understanding. "And what do you think?"

"What?" he said intelligently.

"Well, you said Caspian and Edmund think it'd be best. What about you?"

That wasn't a question he had been prepared for. And, to be honest, he couldn't come up with an answer. He looked away. "I don't know."

"I see." She was biting her lip. "I will do whatever is asked of me."

Peter sighed, not at all taken aback by her decision. "And you don't care if you die?"

"Die?" she repeated, looking like it was the last thing she had been thinking of. "I won't die. But if you have so little faith in me, do you think you'd be better off facing Sylas yourself?"

"No," he said truthfully.

Ilena touched the side of his face and pulled it so that he was looking at her. She had a burning look in her eyes, as though she was desperately trying to convey something to him.

"Peter, you _have_ to trust me. You have to. I know Sylas. I've known him my entire life - all four thousand years of my existence. I'll be fine."

Surprise jolted through him at her age - she looked no older than he did. But this thought vanished when she let go of his face. He felt a warm sensation run though him.

"So, you going to stand there all night, or take over?" she said, suddenly regaining her sarcasm.

Peter blinked. "Take over," he said, sitting down in the chair robotically. Across from him, the Cantrical girl, gnawing away at an apple, threw him a filthy look. Ilena smiled at him and swept toward the exit. Just as she was about to let the door close, she opened her mouth and left him with one final thought to end their conversation.

"And just so you know, Peter," she said, her eyes trained on his, making it impossible to look away, "I trust you."


	13. Our Defining Actions

**CHAPTER 13 – Our Defining Actions**

_Crash_!

Peter swore at the top of his lungs. Desperately, he tried to claw his way out of the chaos of sheets and blankets. His ears were ringing, and he could feel a bump already forming on the side of his head where he had hit the floor. Groping his side, he found his sword, ready to attack.

"Such dirty language!" A laugh. Something seized the mattress over his head and pulled it aside. He winced as the morning light hit his face. Peter continued to lash out, worsening the already tangled mass that was tight across his lower torso. "Hey, hey! Hold still!" The same hands grabbed the blankets and ripped them away. The force made him spin, and he landed on his back, hard. Without thinking, he jumped to his feet and thrust his blade out.

"Woah! Jeez! Leave that for the battlefield, would ya?"

"Ilena!" Peter growled, glaring at the girl in front of him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

She exhaled in an exasperated tone and slapped Peter's sword away. His loose grip did little to steady it, and it clattered to the floor, much like its master had just done. "Would you _please_ stop pointing that at me? I'm the good guy, remember?"

Peter rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes, saying, "Not from where I'm standing." Guard duty had lasted for several hours. By the time his replacement had arrived, it was four o'clock in the morning. "What," he repeated, "are you doing here?"

Ilena was staring at his pajamas with a look of amusement. However, at the serious tone of his voice, she glanced back up at him and replied, "Waking you up, of course." Across her arm was a folded pair of pants and a shirt. She held the articles up, then threw them at him so that they hit his face. "Get dressed," she instructed. "Your training starts now."

"What!" Peter exclaimed, pulling the garments off, revealing a bewildered expression. "What training? Ilena, it's still night-time!" He gestured to the window, where the tiniest rays of sun washed over the courtyard. "The birds aren't even awake."

"The birds," she said, her eyes staring him down, "don't need to learn the proper handling of a sword. Now quit whining. I'm doing this for your own good, you know."

"That's debatable."

She raised a pointed eyebrow. "You'd rather die? Because, believe me, if you attempt to fight any of the Cantricals (and you are going to fight them; I can't face off against them _and_ Sylas) you will."

"Despite what you may think, I can handle a weapon," said Peter, grabbing his sheets off the floor and wildly tossing them back on his bed.

"Perhaps next to Miraz, or the White Witch." Ilena grabbed hold of the mattress and lugged it to his bed, leaning it against the side of the frame. "Use your brain, Peter. I know you've got one. You need to remember that the Cantricals don't feel fear. Sylas won't let them. That's why they are so ruthless – because they think they have nothing to lose. The Telmarines you fought, they knew the price of failure. They knew death was always a possibility. They knew reason. The Cantricals do not."

"And how, exactly," - Peter brushed his hair out of his eyes. He was trying very hard to not think about that fact that he was having this conversation with her….in his pajamas -"is waking up at the crack of dawn going to help me?"

"Vigilance." She crossed her bare arms and gave him a firm look. "You have to be ready at all times. Fate rarely calls on us at a moment of our choosing."

"Goodnight, Ilena," Peter spat, rubbing his eyes as he walked back to his bed. The clothing tumbled from his hands.

He made it less than two feet before a pillow, held aloft by a sudden breeze, slammed into him. His face turning dangerously red, Peter turned back to her, feeling irritation course through him. "What was _that_ for?" he yelled, forgetting that the rest of the castle was still asleep. "Must you always hit me?"

"Peter." She said his name in a murderous tone. "Get. Dressed."

"No. You have no right to come barging in here at Aslan-knows-what hour and tell me what to do. Avella or not, that's completely inexcusable."

Ilena let out a frustrated breath. "Peter, either you dress yourself now, or I'll do it for you."

And she would too, he had not doubt. They were now on opposite sides of the room. Peter was breathing deeply, desperately trying to calm his rising temper. Ilena merely watched, her eyes dark and focused.

"Ilena," Peter said as delicately as possible, "I am not – repeat: _not_ - training or practicing right now."

"Peter," Ilena mimicked, "You are – repeat: _are_ - training and practicing right _now_.

Peter scoffed. "Good luck with that."

Ilena rolled her eyes. "Peter, Peter, Peter. I really, _really_ didn't want to have to do this."

Peter froze. "Do what?" he asked suspiciously, holding the pillow out, as though hoping it might act as a barrier between them.

Ilena just shook her head. Briskly, she walked forward, quickly closing the gap between them. Peter backed up until he felt the bedpost grinding into his spine. As she neared him, Ilena's eyes sparked. Then, suddenly, she leaped at him and tackled him. The pair flew through the air, heading straight for the messy bed. Peter waited for the impact, expecting it to be fairly soft – minus Ilena slamming into him, anyway – so it came as a real shock when he knocked into something hard. Ilena landed on top of him, but before he could push her off, she had thrust her hands down and catapulted herself away.

His eyes spinning, Peter let loose his choicest cuss words and put his head in his hands to steady himself. The world rocked on its axis. "Do you _have_ to do that?" he asked her bitterly.

"In fact, I do," Ilena answered from behind him. He swiveled around to look at her. "It'd be a lot easier if you weren't so stubborn."

It was then that Peter realized where he was. The Pit. Morning was just embracing the dirt walls, bathing it in light. Warmth spread from his head to his toes. Across from him, Ilena stood tall, tightening her wavy ponytail. On her hip was a sword.

Peter looked down, remembering something. He groaned. Just as he had suspected, he was still in his pajamas. Not exactly fighting material. Ilena, following his gaze, commented, "Yes, they're very nice. Now get over here. I have real clothes for you."

He let his mind wander. There were two options: One, he could just walk away, or two, he could fight. Though he really wanted the former, he knew Ilena would never allow it. She'd just fade him back here each time. Annoyed, he gave in and took the clothes she had gathered for him (and apparently held onto while fading). He pointedly looked at her.

"Oh, right. Modesty and all that." She turned around and swung her arms behind her back. Peter let out a deep breath and quickly changed, trying to ignore the girl before him. When he was done, he cast his pajamas to one side. He cleared his throat.

"Right, then," Ilena said. She pulled the sword from her hip, and before Peter could process what was happening, swung herself around and brought the blade down over him. At the last second, he yelped and dodged, feeling the razor-sharp edge swipe through the end of his hair, cutting off a few strands. Instinct took over and he rolled. As he was rolling, he thought of his sword.

Oh, yeah.

He groped the side of his waist, but found nothing. Panic ensued. Where was it? Peter never went anywhere without his weapon. It was his courage, his last line of defense. What would he do without it?

"Looking for this?" Ilena taunted. Peter looked up and felt his insides shrivel. She held his sword with one dainty hand, her fingers just barely keeping grip on the handle.

"Hand it over," he growled.

"Come get it," she challenged.

His blood boiled; his mind went into hyper drive. He had to get it from her. Without a weapon, it would be difficult. But not impossible. He had just had to outwit her, something he felt certain he could do. The problem was, he had no armor and no way to protect himself. But then, he realized as he looked at Ilena, she wore no protection either. In fact, she had on a pair of shorts and a tank top, exposing any and all vantage points she could. It was almost as though she was daring him to try.

Bounding to his feet, he circled her, watching as she danced before him, matching his movements step for step. There was a triumphant gleam in her eye. He thought back to the last time they had fought. What had she said? Something about surprise moves being the most effective? Seizing this idea, he shot out. Just as he had predicted, she reacted, twisting madly. Her body contorted in all directions. Peter tried to continue his attack, but she suddenly forced herself back and her leg drove underneath his, effectively pulling him until he was falling onto the merciless ground.

"Good, good," she murmured.

"Good?" Peter screeched, outraged. "How was that good?"

Ilena squared her hips and lowered herself so that she was looking him in the eye. "You predicted my movements. You were thinking ahead. That is good. However, you did not react. That is what we shall be working on. That, and your ability to fight dirty."

"Like you," he pointed out.

"Yes," she said with pride. "Honor will not follow you to the grave. Narnia would rather you be alive and sneaky than dead and useless."

"Says you."

"Enough," said Ilena. She put her foot on his chest and thrust him into the dirt. "An opponent may or may not fall to your idle chatter. Do not let your guard down."

"I know that!" Peter said, grabbing her leg and yanking her down into the dirt beside him. Ilena didn't make a noise as she landed, facedown. She moved, and sooner than was normal, was back on her feet.

"Good," she said again, her lips curling up in satisfaction. "Much better. Again!" Her hands shot out and lugged him skyward by his collar. As soon as he was upright, she shoved him backward, sending him flying through the air. She tossed him his sword.

"Now for agility," she told him. "Sword up and at the ready. Watch your surroundings but keep an eye on your opponent. Follow your gut. Don't take time to analyze. Don't think, just do."

Ilena charged him. Their swords met with a ring, echoing across the grounds. Peter moved as fast as he could, but Ilena retained the upper hand. She easily parried his blade, at the same time managing to catch him off guard. He quickly lost count of the number of times he was sent sprawling into the ground, only to be lifted and beaten again.

"Faster!" Ilena commanded, her arms and legs a flurry of movement. "Keep your legs as close together as possible. A smaller target is much more difficult to hit!"

Peter grunted and ignored her.

Ilena's eyes contracted. She suddenly lowered her sword and pinched him under the arm, all the while dodging his attacks. He felt his body grow numb. His arm grew heavy. Then he lost all control.

"Switch to your left hand," Ilena told him, noticing his outraged look.

"I can't fight with my left hand."

"Learn!" She lunged at him. "Be versatile. The more fighting styles you master, the better chance you have at staying alive. I can guarantee you I won't be the only one you fight who knows the body's pressure points."

He swapped hands, growing wary. The blade that normally felt like one with his right hand felt awkward and bulky with his left. He did his best to swing it, but he never made contact with his opponent.

They continued sparring for, what Peter was sure, was several hours. The sun slowly drifted into the center of the sky, and the air grew humid. Though he was drenched in sweat and his body ached in places he hadn't even known existed, he refused to give in. As the day wore on, he began increasingly frustrated, and his poor swordsmanship (according to Ilena) grew worse.

Ilena's sword hit his, and it ricocheted out of his hands, landing in the dirt, and sending up a huge plume of dust. She held her blade to his chest, watching as he heaved loudly. After a moment, she lowered it and said, "That's enough for today."

Jealousy erupted from his core. She wasn't even out of breath. Her face was flushed, yes, but other than, she bore no signs that the match had taken a toll on her.

"Finally," Peter mumbled, letting himself fall onto his back.

"You actually did very well," she told him, squatting down next to him.

He raised his head and snorted. "Sure, right. That's why you look so exhausted."

Ilena waved his comment off. "I am an Avella. I do not tire as easily." She gazed at him, noticing his gasping inhales. She frowned and looked up into the sky, her eyes focused on the sun. A cloud appeared out of nowhere and positioned itself just so, allowing Peter's eyes to rest. A shadow fell over the world.

"Thanks," Peter said. His bad temper seemed to disappear along with the harmful rays.

She merely nodded.

Silence ensued. Peter allowed his breathing to slow, and a question tugged at the back of his mind.

"So when it snows in winter, is that because you feel a certain way?" he asked.

Ilena shook her head. "No. It's just the natural balance of things. I keep the world in check as far as the seasons, but it all happens subconsciously. I have to be thinking about it hard enough, or be so angry, sad, or happy for the weather to bend to my whim."

"Must be nice."

She laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, it's a real joy." At his confused look, she just shook her head. "Never mind."

"So am I free to go, then?" Peter asked.

"Yes."

"And are you going to break down my door again tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Annoyance crept into his voice.

"Because," she pressed. She fell back into the dirt alongside him. "Because I actually care whether or not Narnia wins this war. The last thing I need is to be dragging your corpse off the battlefield."

Lunchtime, for the first time in over a week, proved to be fairly normal.

Though Caspian was on guard duty, the rest of the kings and queens, Ilena included, managed to all be at the dining hall at the same time. Laughter rang through the halls as pleasantries were exchanged. None of them would ever admit it, but each other's company and reassurance that they weren't alone was exactly what they needed.

Even Susan felt at ease.

She had finished Maria's favorite novel the night before, reading well into the wee hours of the morning before at last succumbing to sleep. As she had turned the pages, a strange thing had happened.

She had begun to believe.

The book in question told the story of one woman's struggle toward inner acceptance. As silly as it sounded, Susan found that she connected with the main character in ways she had never felt possible. She had also realized that, being Maria's book, it must have helped the Queen a great deal as well.

In a way, she thought the book had solely been created to help her in her time of need.

Of course, she hadn't told Maria she had finished it. Or started it, truthfully. An inner battle was being fought in the Gentle Queen. On the one hand, she wished to tell Maria of her love for the book, and maybe, just maybe, make a real friend out of her. But, on the other hand, Susan's pride, which had suffered an extreme emotional blow upon returning to Narnia, had not recovered.

As such, she sat quietly among her companions, contemplating her two courses of action, not really paying attention to the conversations around her. Eventually, she decided to hold off on making a choice and enjoy the meal.

At the same moment she thought this, Lucy began to speak.

"Ilena made the trees dance yesterday," she said so matter-of-factly, she gave the impression they were speaking of cooking recipes rather than magic.

"Really?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. A small glint of amusement flashed in his eyes – something Susan had never seen before.

"Yes!" Lucy said passionately. "They were so beautiful. You should come see it sometime, Peter."

"Well," he replied, "only if I am allowed to." He looked to Ilena for conformation. The amusement flashed a second time.

Ilena grinned back. "Only if you want to."

In that instant, Susan realized something. They were all happy. Even in the midst of a huge war, smiles lifted the corners of their cheeks, displaying the joy they felt. Not only that, but everyone was _changing_. Lucy was growing up; Peter looked more relaxed and jovial than she had ever seen him; even Edmund, normally moody and withdrawn, easily slid into whatever situation arose around him.

So what about her?

With a sinking feeling, Susan chose not to answer. She already knew she had not changed. She was still that same logical, sensible person that refused to let herself even an ounce of the impossible. Every tiny hope that she had begun to have faith vanished with this realization – all of it gone in less than two seconds.

And even though she knew logical and sensible would serve her well in the real world…she couldn't help but wish she knew how to believe.

_Here we go…_

Lately, guard duty hadn't felt like such a chore.

True, he had to sit on his tail for hours on end, in one of the darkest, gloomiest, coldest rooms in the entire castle. And yes, the girl he watched over obviously wanted him dead. And, of course, he could be spending his time to help the war effort.

But apart from all of that, it wasn't so bad.

Thinking this, Edmund walked down into the dungeon, his spirits unnaturally high. He couldn't place his finger on why exactly he enjoyed the time he spent in the cell. The most logical answer he could come up with was that the Cantrical girl presented a challenge. And Edmund loved challenges.

Her taking the apple could already qualify as a victory. Her taking all of the apples…well, it felt like he had just defeated the White Witch. The triumph of perhaps molding the girl, of healing her, energized him.

Finally, he felt like he could do some good.

The girl openly watched him as he strolled through the dungeon doors. Curiously, she made no attempt to approach him. Even her lips held steady, the usual hiss stemmed.

"Hello," Edmund said, walking toward the cell. Like before, he held several apples in his hand. Squatting down, he rolled them between the bars. One. Two. Three. The girl caught them, her reflexes instantaneous.

"And also," Edmund went on, digging through a bag he had slung over his arm. "A special treat." He opened the lid, and shoved the dish in as well.

The girl eyed it warily, and crawled next to it. Gently, she reached out and touched the silver lining. She jumped. No doubt the metal was cold… But still, the temperature did not faze her to the point of moving away, so she touched it again. This time, her foot ran the length of the container, taking in every indentation. Her hand came next.

Finally, after several minutes of inspecting it, she looked down into the dish and sniffed it. Finding nothing wrong with it, she proceeded to stick her hand into the powder. It coated her skin. Like an animal, she licked her fingers. Her eyes came to life.

"Knew you'd like it," Edmund stated. The girl paid him no attention. She continued to paw her way through the dessert. Eventually, she plucked up the courage and popped one of the treats in her mouth.

There was no doubt about it – she liked it. Greedily, she stuffed her mouth with the remainder of the Turkish delight, even going so far as to lick the bottom of the pan.

When she was done, she looked up at him expectantly.

"Sorry," Edmund told her. "That's all I have." He honestly hadn't expected her to eat all of it, though he could understand why she did. Turkish delight he knew, from his own personal experience, held a special power over one's judgment.

Surprisingly, the girl nodded at his comment. A flicker of understanding swept from her to him.

Wait….

Edmund shook his head. He had to have been imagining it. She was a murderer, a savage. There's no way she could have understood what he had just said. No way…

The girl, blissfully unaware of what the boy next to her was thinking, moved on to her apples. She finished the first in record time and moved on to the second. Within ten minutes, all three apples were gone.

Again, she looked up at him, as though asking for more.

He could merely shake his head.

"Sorry; that's all I have. Besides," he situated himself into his usual position in the chair, "You already had your dessert."


	14. Judging a Book

**CHAPTER 14 – Judging a Book**

As promised, Peter's tutelage continued the next morning.

To his great relief, Ilena refrained from overturning his bed, and settled for lightly tapping him on the shoulder. He stirred immediately and sat up. Truthfully, he had been up half the night, tossing and turning, waiting for dawn to break. Perhaps the knowledge that he was to be woken by a certain time was what kept him from slipping into slumber. Or maybe he was just restless. Either way, when she touched him, he didn't hesitate.

"Good morning," Ilena said pleasantly, grinning.

"Morning," he replied, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Between his anxiousness and dread for his next lesson, and the faces of the dead that plagued his dreams – no, nightmares – he felt exhausted.

But since he knew she would never accept that as an excuse, he pried himself from his mattress and staggered over to his trunk to search for clothing. All the while, Ilena's eyes watched him. He could feel her stare on the back of his neck.

"What?" he asked, turning to her, his eyebrows slanting down.

"Nothing," she said. She started humming as he pulled the garments free. She sat down on his bed, facing the opposite wall to afford him some privacy.

He quickly changed, ran his hand through his hair, and cleared his throat.

She looked back. "Excellent," she commended him. "You're a lot more tolerable when you're not cussing out the world."

He shrugged. "Must be one of my natural talents." Her lip curled up, but she said nothing, so he continued, "So, what are we doing this morning?" It was pointless to pretend he knew what was coming – with Ilena, everything was a surprise.

"Well, for one thing, you won't need that," she pointed at the sword fastened on his waist.

He frowned. "If you say so." Unfastening his belt, he cast it aside, hearing the _clink_ as the metal of his sheath hit the floor. He looked back at her. "But you still didn't answer my question."

She nodded. "No, I didn't." She hopped off the bed and crossed the distance between them. Her hands found the tie around her hair, and she gave it a good squeeze. Never a good sign. When she was standing next to him, she held out her hands and said, "Ready?"

For a moment, he wondered why she was asking. Ilena never waited for his consent. She tended to force him against his will, without any regard for his wants or needs. It shook him a little by the small smile she wore. His defenses flared.

She was up to something.

But she was waiting for his reply, so he put his hands in hers and answered, "As I'll ever be."

The familiar sensations filled him as she squeezed his hands. Slowly, their bodies turned transparent. Peter's whole lower-body took on the form of the floor beneath him, gray and hard. There was a great, white flash, and then –

Peter opened his eyes, blinking twice to clear his vision. Surprise jolted through his veins when he realized they were not in the Pit. No. They stood in the middle of a large field, peaceful with the morning. He felt certain that, in only a few minutes, he would no longer appreciate the blazing sky overhead, light with sunshine. Nor would he appreciate the pleasant breeze, vibrant flowers, or elegant willow trees.

Ilena let go of him and began walking away. Not sure if he should be following, Peter hastened after her, only to be stopped by her hand.

"No," she told him, shaking her head. "Stay where you are."

He complied, wondering what in the heck she had in store for him. His brain switched into 'warrior' mode, and his eyes swept the landscape, desperately searching for some sign foreshadowing what was to come.

Suddenly, a large column of dirt and rock exploded in front of him, rising into the air like a sky-scraper. He barely missed getting his nose taken off, having dived at the last possible moment. Just as he managed to catch his brain up to his body, a second column protruded upward. This time he was ready for it, so he dodged it with ease.

"And what is the point?" he called to Ilena, missing a third one. Each time another appeared, the speed increased.

"The point," she said, her eyes spinning rapidly, "is to teach you to deal with the unexpected. You must always been on your guard. Learn to control your emotions in life-or-death stakes. Your ability to react instantly could very well keep you alive."

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

More columns shot upward. He had no way of knowing where or when they would appear, so he constantly found himself on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action. Twice he got hit; once in the stomach (in his attempt to evade a column, he ended up running into another) and once in the back of the thigh (he hadn't quite jumped forward fast enough).

After ten minutes, the stakes increased. Ilena's eyes glowed brightly, and the ground below him gave way. With a strangled cry, he leapt out of the way, only to be slammed into by a third column. He tried to maneuver his way around it, but the ground disappeared again. He zipped to his left.

His legs and lungs were on fire. Peter knew he was in pretty good shape – much better than most boys his age, what with his constant battles in Narnia. But as he hopped, skipped, and flailed, he could feel the strain on his muscles. Exhaustion wormed its way into the back of his mind.

"Stamina," Ilena said, as though reading his thoughts. "You are also being taught to conserve energy, yet push yourself to your limits."

"That makes no sense!" Peter cried, pulling himself out of the hole he had just fallen into.

"It will soon. Now, faster!"

Something collided with his face. Pain shot up his nose, and eye. He cursed. Staggering, he clutched the bruised, already-purpling left half of his face. But he couldn't stop. Though he was handicapped, he still had a job to do. He wiped the blood from his nose, and did his best to peer through his right eye.

"Keep going. Trust your other senses."

Trust his other senses. Trust. Immediately, he strained his ears. There was faint hiss.

That's all he needed.

Judging the distance, he propelled himself forward, just barely missing the four blocks of dirt. He rolled on his back, and felt the rock moving. He jumped to his feet and skidded away. The ground behind him sunk into a deep chasm.

Slowly, he started to feel his surroundings. Though he couldn't see out of his left eye, he could still 'see' the field before him. He could hear the hissing of the columns. He could feel the shifting in the dirt. He could see (out of his good eye) the steely determination of Ilena's concentration as she tried to catch him by surprise.

Then everything changed.

Just as he was developing a rhythm, the field fell silent, and still.

What was she up to?

He turned to face her, to figure out what was happening, when he felt something snake around his leg. His first instinct was to scream like a little girl. However, realizing this was very inappropriate for a king, he instead focused in on the attacker.

Another snapped around his wrist. Soon, he was struggling, desperately trying to fight off the vines that fell from the willow tree overhead. His sword would have been helpful.

But no way was Ilena going to let him use it.

Logic. He needed to think. He surveyed his surroundings. An idea. Grasping a rock by his foot with his free hand, he began hacking away at his bonds, slicing like a mad man. The willow responded – or was it Ilena controlling it? – by shooting out more vines.

Peter destroyed each one.

When he was done, Ilena called out, "Now you fight."

His sword flew through the air. Surprisingly, he caught it with ease. He turned to face her.

Ilena smirked and shook her head, pointing behind him.

Feeling his insides drop, he moved back around, only to be struck by a piece of wood. It slammed into his face – luckily, hitting the left side, oh joy! – and he saw stars. He desperately tried to collect his senses, to figure out who or what was ripping him apart.

When he caught sight of his opponent, he stopped.

Flower petals. A column of flower petals. All cycloned together to form a human male. In the flower-man's right hand was a stick with a deadly point.

Peter, though he was in pain, starting laughing uncontrollably.

"You're going to have me fight a plant?"

Ilena's nostrils flared, and she said, in the coolest voice she could, "Remember Peter: You're opponent cannot be judged based on physical appearance. This _plant_ cannot die. It does not fear death – much as the Cantricals do not. He will teach you to keep your head against someone who has nothing to lose."

"But still – _a tree?_"

"Like I said, ignore physical appearance. Cantrical children fight alongside the adults. You may have to face them. Do not underestimate them. Think of that girl you fought."

Images flashed before his eyes. The Cantrical girl. A dagger through her heart. Dying. Laughing. Jeering.

How did Ilena know about that?

All of this went through his mind very quickly.

The flower-man brought up his staff for another blow. This time, Peter was ready. He dodged, rolled. Another slash. His vision was still fuzzy, but he managed to evade the jagged point.

"Fight back," Ilena commanded.

How? How was he supposed to fight back? It was a tree, for the love of Aslan!

Wait. A tree. It depended on a life source.

He swiveled on his heels and ran to the willow. The flower-man, sensing what was happening, sped after him. But Peter was too quick. The flame roaring through his veins did not quell the vigor he felt at gaining the upper hand. When he was under the nearest bough, he sliced it off, watching as the flower-man writhed in pain. Another chop.

Another. Another.

With each swipe, he felt dirty. This was a tree, after all. A harmless, good, altruistic tree.

But if there was one thing he had learned, an opponent was an opponent.

He chopped repeatedly, only ceasing when Ilena suddenly cried, "STOP!" He looked back.

Her face had gone very pale. The flower-man was a man no more. Petals coated the ground, like a pink blanket. Ilena watched Peter, her eyes set in deep thought, then she walked toward him. When she was beside him, she gently took the sword from his hand.

"Good," she said softly, her voice quivering. But instead of waiting for a reply, she put her hand on the tree bark, and closed her eyes. At first nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the fallen branches shot up and reattached themselves to their base. The flower-man rose up, once more a cyclone of petals.

He nodded at Ilena, and vanished.

Ilena let out a low sigh.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked her, breathing hard. He had been watching her, all the while desperately trying to catch his breath before she threw another challenge at him.

"Nothing," she said. "You did well."

"Thank you," Peter said, feeling surprised.

"Let's check out that eye of yours." He nodded and sat down right away. Ilena crouched down next to him, and removed his hand from the left side of his face. Her expression did not change. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"Hold still," she commanded him. He did as he was told. She pressed her hand against the sore spot. Pain erupted. Something tingled along his temple. "Close your eyes." He consented again. A few seconds passed, and her hand left him.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, remembering the last time she had fixed his vision. She laughed. It took a moment for him to lock on her face.

"What?"

"You are learning," she said in mock surprise.

"Isn't that the point?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

* * *

Susan inhaled slowly, trying to soothe her frazzled nerves. The wood brushed against her fingertips, glistening in the sunlight. Daintily, she stroked the feathers, feeling each tiny strand. Her footsteps were quick and purposeful.

Peter had disappeared. Edmund was taking a nap. Lucy was with Maria. Ilena and Caspian were nowhere to be seen. So, she should be safe. Yes, she should be safe.

When she reached her destination, she felt something strange. A thrill that filled her from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes. She took her position, pulling the object from the canister on her back. She slid the arrow into place, aimed and –

The arrow flew through the air, straight and true. With a _twang_ it hit the target, deeply embedding itself. A perfect bulls-eye.

She exhaled. Her fingers itched for the second arrow. She knocked it and released again. _Twang._ Something stirred in her chest.

If there was one thing Susan loved, it was archery. A natural talent that had served them well in the past, she found that each time the arrows shot through the air and reached their mark with unwavering accuracy, she thought the world might not be such a bad place. The deep concentration required, the right amount of strength – it was all about precision.

And Susan was a perfectionist.

A third arrow hit the mark.

"You really need to teach me how to do that," a voice said.

Susan froze, but did not lower her bow.

"It's been my experience that you are quite successful in your right," she said back.

Caspian didn't respond. He walked toward her, his eyes set deep. "Perhaps, but never as good as you."

"What are you doing here, Caspian?" She had thought, after their last few encounters that he would have given up trying to reach out to her.

"I am trying to become your friend," he said, a little hurt by her tone.

Apparently not.

"I did not realize that was a crime," he went on.

Susan felt guilt settle on her shoulders. She knew she wasn't treating him the best. But she couldn't help it. Her…pride, if you could call it that, refused to acknowledge him and his offering. Accepting him meant accepting Narnia.

And that was one thing she couldn't do.

"Are you unhappy here, Susan?" Caspian suddenly asked, watching her carefully.

She thought for a moment. Was she unhappy? Truly? No. She loved Narnia. She loved the magic and wonder it held. But…but that one side of her wouldn't let her admit it. She needed logic. She needed facts. Magic wouldn't help her in the real world.

She needed something real.

Caspian sighed when she didn't answer. "Susan, I have not known you very long. And I do not mean to judge. Really. But I think the only reason you are not happy is because you will not let yourself be." He bowed at the waist. "Please think on it."

And then he was gone.

Susan watched him go, feeling her insides drop. He had hit the nail right on the head. She wasn't unhappy – she just wouldn't afford herself the emotion, despite the fact that it hummed in the back of her head. She exhaled in frustration, lifted her bow and let the string go with another _Twang_.

The arrow flew past the target, missing it by three feet.

* * *

"Good evening, Caspian," Edmund said pleasantly, nodding to the king.

"Good evening, Edmund," Caspian replied. His eyes flashed down to the tray in Edmund's hand, and narrowed suspiciously. In the cell, the girl let out a low breath. It echoed off the rock walls.

"What is that?"

Edmund raised an eyebrow. "Food, of course."

"I know," Caspian went on, "but what is it doing in here?" He picked up one of the drumsticks and turned it over in his hands with a critical look. Then, obviously disgusted, he dropped it back on the metal. He didn't even glance at the three apples, two rolls, and piece of Turkish delight.

"Well, she always eats during my shift," Edmund said, feeling his insides rise. What was going on? He knew Caspian held a, well, completely deserved grudge against the Cantricals. But the girl was still human. Food was a necessity.

"Yes, but such a feast – it is wasted. She will not appreciate it."

"All the same, I'll give it to her."

Caspian didn't answer. He walked around Edmund, anger plain on his face.

Edmund watched him go, then turned to the cell, where the girl's curious eyes watched his every move. Her face brightened, following the tray with rapture. She knew what was coming.

He closed the door to the dungeon with a bang, then walked over to the dingy cell. The girl got to her feet. Edmund felt surprised. Her tiny ankles, thin with lack of nourishment, didn't look near strong enough to hold her up. Of course, there wasn't much to hold up in the first place. Had he guessed, he could have safely assumed she weighed less than Lucy.

"Supper time," he said, placing the tray between the bars. The girl dove for the food, grasping the chicken drumstick in her fragile hand. She bit into it roughly and pulled a chunk away. Though the scene still made him want to gag, Edmund realized that with each meal, she seemed to become a little more relaxed and – dare he say it? – less imposing and savage.

Halfway through the meat, she suddenly froze, and her eyes snapped to his face. He realized at that point that he had been watching her with great interest. However, at her focused gaze, he looked away.

"Ehmun."

He snapped back to her. Wait…..what? It couldn't – did she just – had that been….

"Ehmun," she said again. There was no doubt. She had just spoken to him for the first time.

He nearly fell over. Shock crashed down on him. She had tried to say his name. She had addressed him. She knew who he was.

In other words, she might be sane enough to know what was going on around her.

The revelation left him speechless. The girl in front of him didn't seem to notice this. Saying his name a third time, she held the drumstick out, waving it at his face insistently.

"What?" he choked out.

She waggled the gift again, her bite marks evident.

Then it hit him. She was offering him part of her meal. She was trying to share the measly portion with him.

"No, no thank you," he sputtered, his eyes wide. The girl nodded at his refusal and started to gnaw on it again. All the while, Edmund's mind blasted from the confines of the dungeon.

There was just no way…. She was a Cantrical. Manners were not part of their day-to-day lives. He had witnessed their hatred first hand. There was just no way.

The girl finished the drumstick quickly and set to work on the rest of her meal. She either ignored Edmund or forgot him completely, because she didn't speak again. When she was done, she pushed the tray back through the bars, and did something that shocked him even more.

She smiled at him. Her toothy grin did wonders for her appearance.

It was only a split-second smile, disappearing so quick, he would have missed it had he blinked. But in that smile, he saw something:

Gratitude. Unwavering gratitude.

Impossible. Cantrical.

But then his own thoughts reminded him.

_She was still human_.

And maybe, just maybe, he was reminding her as well.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Happy Birthday to me. A review is the best present I could get ^^


	15. Right and Wrong

**CHAPTER 15 - Right and Wrong**

"Lucy, dear, will you hand me the pitcher?" Maria asked, not looking up from her sewing.

Lucy complied, grasping the water jug on the table to her right. Her arms wobbled slightly as she lifted the heavy container, but she managed to set it down next to the Queen without spilling. Maria's eyes darted up to Lucy's and she smiled. Lucy returned to her seat.

Though by sight an odd pair, Lucy and Maria got along exceedingly well. Unlike the other residents of the castle, Maria treated Lucy as her equal. She honestly cared what the Valiant Queen had to say, and never belittled her abilities or opinions. While Peter and Edmund usually cast her aside, ignoring her suggestions, and Susan pretended their return to Narnia was a dream, Maria offered her time and company. The arrangement suited them both - Lucy because she was lonely, and Maria because the young girl brought out hope that her sanity desperately needed.

Currently, the two were seated in the large study off of Maria and Caspian's bedroom. Lucy had, at first, felt uncomfortable entering their private room. However, after several pleasant afternoons, she had grown accustomed to it. Normally they would sit and talk, or even walk around the castle. But not today. Lately Maria had been too tired to do much of anything - her pregnancy was in its final stage. Not that it bothered Lucy.

"Have you seen Peter at all?" Lucy asked, returning to her drawing. She was getting quite good at proportions.

"No," Maria said, poking the needle through the fabric. "Not since the day before yesterday. From what I have heard, Ilena is training him."

Lucy let out a low breath. Her brother wasn't one to accept help easily. Most likely he was battling it out with Ilena for dominance. She smirked at this thought. Despite what he said, Lucy felt sure that he liked her. "I'll bet he's enjoying himself."

"I do hope so," Maria said. She put her needlework down. "I can't imagine being trained by an Avella."

Lucy didn't quite understand why everyone treated Ilena so differently. She was a magical being, yes, but she was still human on the outside. Nothing special. Still, she replied, "Neither can I."

Silence ensued as they returned to their individual projects. Then, Maria spoke again.

"Does your sister resent me?"

Lucy honestly hadn't been expecting such a question, and felt her mind scramble to come up with an appropriate response. She didn't believe that Susan resented her personally…just that Caspian had moved on. Being as young as she was, she couldn't really understand romance.

"I don't think so," Lucy said slowly. "She's just…difficult." Normally she wouldn't speak of her sister in such a way. But she wanted to be as truthful with Maria as possible.

"She does not like me," Maria said, almost sadly. "I guess I can't say I blame her. Caspian told me of - uhhh." The last bit came out as a groan, and Maria put her hand to her forehead.

"Are you alright?" Lucy inquired, watching her warily.

"Yes, yes," Maria said in an off-hand way. "Just some minor pain."

Lucy screwed up her eyes. Now she couldn't lie - she knew hardly anything about medicine and the body. But something felt off to her. And she had learned long ago to always trust her gut.

"Maria," Lucy started, "How long - I mean, have you been experiencing this often?"

Maria nodded, but nothing seemed to register. "For a little while, yes."

"How often?"

"Every fifteen minutes or so."

Lucy exhaled. Her mother had served as a mid-wife for quite some time, and Lucy had more than once caught sight of the symptoms from her patients. She squinted, trying to remember what her mother had done in such a situation.

"Lucy, dear," Maria said, alarmed, "is everything ok?"

Lucy grinned. "Everything is wonderful." At Maria's questioning gaze, Lucy continued. "Maria, I think you're going into labor."

Ilena had let him sleep in.

The sheer obscurity of such a notion left him dazed and confused. Ilena, as passionate and caring as she was about the war, rarely showed even an ounce of compassion. Especially to him. She seemed to get a certain thrill out of annoying him, badgering him, pushing him beyond his limits. What had caused her to display such kindness?

"Hurry up, if you please," she said, her back to him as he stripped and put on his armor.

It was the first time since starting his training that she had instructed him to wear it. It felt heavy at first - after all, the last couple of weeks he had been dressed in nothing more than a simple tunic. But after some adjusting, he realized just how much he had missed the metal, silly as it was. It afforded him a sense of security. He cleared his throat noisily as he pulled his boots on.

Ilena turned to him. "And how did we sleep?" she asked him. Behind her, rays streamed in from the open window, bathing her in light.

"Well enough," he answered, his eyebrows arching. She seemed slightly on edge. "And you?"

"Well enough," she echoed, crossing her legs in front of her. She started rocking back and forth, her rotating eyes flickering around the large room. Unlike him, she was still in her customary knee-length breeches and simple T-shirt. Metal bracers were clapped around her wrists. Peter didn't want to think about what they might have in store for him.

"What is it?" he asked, noting her distant gaze. She looked at him.

"Something's not right," she whispered. "I can feel it." She gestured to his armor. "That's why you are wearing that - I don't want any accidents today. We might need you sooner than you think."

"Sylas?" Peter's mouth puckered, as though he had just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. "Or…something else?"

Ilena just shook her head. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "There's something in the air. Something I haven't felt in over a thousand years. But I can't place what it is." She ran a hand through her hair in frustration.

"Maybe we should stay," Peter attempted, letting the suggestion linger in the air. If a battle was looming, he'd rather be there alongside his siblings.

She shook her head. "It's not coming toward the castle. Whatever it is. I know that much."

"Have you told Caspian?"

She laughed dryly. "No, I haven't. He doesn't really talk to me anymore. I believe the stress of the war, and the whole Sylas thing is too much for him. He avoids me."

"You should speak to him," Peter advised her. "Tell him what's going on. He'd want to know."

"I'll think about it." She slid off the bed, and pulled her arms behind her head until she heard a satisfying pop. "Peter," she suddenly said, as she pulled her leg up behind her to stretch the muscle, "do you ever wish you could go back and do a moment over?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is there anything you regret?" she clarified.

He thought about it. Did he regret anything? Naturally he regretted whenever he yelled at his siblings, or lost his temper. But those answers seemed ridiculous. He had a feeling she was getting at something larger.

"Not really," he said. "Why, do you?"

She didn't respond. Flipping her hands over, she walked toward him, her eyes hazy. Again, her expression had turned blank. Unreadable. He wondered what she was thinking. "Never mind," she said quietly. "Let's just go."

He received several amused looks as he walked down the hall. Servants bowed, their lips curling, but they said nothing. Edmund ignored them as best he could, juggling the food in his arms. He was carrying enough to feed an army. Had anyone asked, he would have said it was for Peter as well. But luckily, this particular lie never presented itself.

As he walked, he felt his thoughts jumble around inside his brain. The various encounters with the Cantrical girl had left him unhinged. He didn't know what to make of it. Never before had he seen such a miracle. True, she was still savage in many ways. She knew not how to properly hold a spoon. Nor read. Nor dress herself.

But in all honesty what did it matter?

She could speak. She knew his name. She had smiled at him. That all had to count for something. Especially considering the control she was under, and the conditions of her childhood.

"Edmund!" Lucy's voice cried from behind him. He looked back to see her scrambling after him, her long dress bobbing.

"What Lucy?" he asked, swiveling around to face her. He continued to gnaw on a roll.

"Close your mouth when you're chewing," she chastised him. Apparently whatever she was about to tell him wasn't so dreadfully important she couldn't boss him around. For someone so young, she sure acted like an adult. Nevertheless, he scowled at her and did as she requested. "Thank you. Now, quick! We need to find Caspian!"

"Um, ok. He should be taking watch right now," Edmund started, just as Lucy grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him in the direction of the dungeon. The force made the food tumble from his grasp.

"Lucy!" he groaned. That had been his well deserved breakfast.

"Don't worry about that now," she said. "You eat too much as it is. Now hurry up!"

He allowed her to drag him through the halls and down into the dungeon. Several times he asked her what the problem was, but she would just let out a small giggle and tug harder. Eventually, he gave up. When they arrived in the holdings, Lucy let go of him and threw her arms around Caspian in a tight hug. Edmund stood, frozen where he was, watching her curiously.

"Lu?" he said. She pulled back.

"Edmund will be taking your shift," she told Caspian brightly.

Edmund's jaw dropped. He hadn't agreed to that! Caspian, likewise, looking a little confused, said, "May I ask why?"

Lucy started giggling again, and loudly proclaimed, "Because you're going to be a daddy, silly!"

Caspian strode out of the room so fast, had he blinked, Edmund would have missed it.

"Breathe," Ilena commanded, flicking a blade of grass between her fingertips.

Peter wanted to retort, to tell her she was crazy, but wisely held his tongue. His muscles ached, and sweat dripped into his eyes, drenching his hair and face. He could feel the sun's harsh rays wash over him, despite the armor he wore.

It. Was. Hot. Not just warm. Hot. Blindingly searing hot. He knew that if he tried, he could boil an egg on his breastplate. The heat made it difficult to move - his strength was steadily declining. He really wished he could take the metal off. But knew she'd never allow it.

Her and her blasted 'feelings'.

"Peter, breathe," she snapped again, minor annoyance flashing across her face.

"I AM!" he retorted without looking at her. He bounced across the wood, nearly missing one. At the last second, he managed to propel himself forward the extra inch, and winced as his foot collided messily with the post.

"Look," Ilena said, exasperated. Tempers were running high - Peter knew the heat was affecting his mood in the worst possible way. "If you want to die, then go ahead. But if you actually want to live you need to learn to relax."

"Somehow I don't think facing death will relax me," he said flatly.

"You're missing the point. We have been testing your strength, agility, and ability to react instinctively. As important as these are, they'll never get you anywhere if you don't learn to block out pain and distractions."

Peter mumbled where she could stick her pain and distractions, and hopped to the next peg. The task she had presented him with was to jump from post to post over a six foot hole without falling. Thought at first he had thought it would be easy, balance, he soon realized, was a lot harder when wearing metal footplates that were about three times the width of the posts. He wobbled with each step. Naturally, the sweat running down his face did little to help his plight.

Relaxing didn't seem to be an option.

He missed the next peg, so caught up in his thoughts that he forgot to adjust his weight. He fell forward, into the pit, swearing as he collided with the wood in the most uncomfortable manner possible. His armor deflected the blow, but not enough to keep him from groaning in pain.

"Peter?" Ilena called, crawling over the hole.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice a few octaves higher than normal. He expected her to laugh, but she didn't.

"Hold on," she told him. She leaned over the side of the opening and held her hand out to help him up. When the tremendous pain he felt faded (and his voice fluttered back to its normal range) he slid his palm against hers, and she pulled him out, as though he weighed nothing.

"Sorry about that," she said, her eyes softening. Peter gasped a few times. She didn't press him, but instead waited for him to return to Narnia.

"It's fine," he said breathlessly. After all, it was his fault. If he had been paying attention…

"Let's take a break, ok?" she suggested. He consented, and suddenly, behind them, a tree burst from the ground. It twisted, turning gnarled and molded, shooting higher and higher. When it was done, it stood well over fifteen feet tall. A shadow fell over him, and his body temperature went down by a good ten degrees.

"Thanks," he said, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"No problem," she replied, tracing a pattern over the bark. She was still rigid, and he knew the 'feeling' had not yet left her.

"Wow." Peter mocked surprise. "Sleeping in and a break all in one day? What did you do with Ilena?"

Ilena laughed quietly. "She needed a break too." The place her finger touched turned sapphire blue, leaving a shiny streak against the wood. Peter marveled at it. "I may be an Avella, but I still get tired."

"Does Aslan get tired?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't given much thought to the Great Lion over the last few days, but now he found himself wondering. After all, he made Ilena…surely he wouldn't give her flaws.

"I do not believe so," she said after a moment. She seemed to be reading his thoughts. "He's perfect in every way. Wise, caring, loving. Avellas were created by him, not after him. If we don't understand what makes others do what they do and why, we can't very well achieve our tasks."

"I've only ever heard one person speak of Aslan so unconditionally, and that's my sister, Lucy. You must love him a lot."

"How can I not?" she inquired, turning to look at him. "He's made me what I am. He's guided me. More times than not, he's saved me. Perhaps the reason I love him so unconditionally is because he loves me so unconditionally."

She sounded so sure, and passionate about it, Peter couldn't help but wish he retained an ounce of her love for the King. Her undying faith in him made Peter's faith look childish.

She continued to run her finger along the tree trunk, humming as she did so. Peter's breathing slowed, and he could feel the pain receding, like a sliver being pulled out. After a few minutes had passed, she finally said, "I hope I did not impair your ability to have children someday."

Peter's eyes crinkled, and his lips raised into a small smile. "I think I'll be ok."

"Good." She wiped her hands together, then stood up.

Peter copied her action.

"Ready to go again?"

Susan pushed her legs as fast as she could, adrenaline pounding. The servants, for the most part, dove out of the way as soon as they saw her coming. She apologized profusely each time she collided with one, but did not slow her rigorous pace.

Maria was having her baby. Oh Aslan, Maria was having her baby.

What with her mother being a mid-wife several times, Susan knew a thing or two about pregnancies. She had seen six or seven during her lifetime, and though no two births were alike, the general idea remained the same. She knew, without shadow of a doubt, that Maria was panicking. Her sister most likely had stepped in to help. Edmund would be watching over the Cantrical girl - both because he was too scared to go anywhere near a doctor, and because he would be the only other free person in the castle that could be trusted. Caspian had to be losing his mind.

She hurried up the steps, holding her dress aloft to keep from tripping over it. The king and queen's chamber was rapidly approaching. The door to the bedroom kept opening and banging shut as staff and mid-wives ran in and out. Susan slipped in, gazing at the scene before her.

Maria was sitting up in the bed, her face screwed up in pain as a contraction ripped through her body. Women's voices could be hear, screaming. Susan almost laughed. Maria had a long way to go - losing one's head now wouldn't do much good. Feeling as though she was the only one who still had her wits about her, Susan did what she did best: She took control.

"Stop!" she cried. The effect was instantaneous. The entire room froze, and a dozen pairs of eyes flickered to her - Lucy's among them. Susan strode over to the bed, and took one of Maria's hands. Maria's grip became vice-like as she rode the waves of pain. Susan stood firm, not daring to take her hand out, even when her fingers felt like they were going to fall off.

When the contraction was over, Maria let out a deep exhale and looked up at the Gentle Queen. "Thank you," she said, her voice slightly strained.

"Lay back," Susan commanded. She lowered Maria onto the pillow. "Save your strength. You will need it." Glancing up, she asked, "How far apart are the contractions?"

From somewhere a voice called, "Nine minutes apart."

Susan nodded, showing she had heard, when her eyes landed on Caspian. He was sitting in the corner, and just as she had predicted, his face was extremely pale. Susan walked over to him, after telling Maria she would be right back. When she was standing next to him, she didn't hesitate to raise her hand. With a smack, she slapped him across the face.

Caspian jumped. "What was that for?" he asked, his voice nearly as weak as his wife's.

"Sorry," Susan said. "But Caspian, please, get over there." She pointed at the bed. "Your wife is having your baby. She needs you right now."

"I do not think I am ready for this."

Susan smiled wryly. "It's a little late to be thinking that. Now, for the second time: Get over there. Your wife….Maria," she amended, "needs you."

Caspian nodded and stood up, a look of determination sliding into place.

He was getting better. Something had to be said for practice. Only three hours trying to hop across the stupid pit before he at last felt the exuberance of victory. Granted, he had nearly slipped on the last peg. Only the thought that he didn't need a repeat of earlier forced him to launch himself those last four feet.

"Excellent," Ilena commended him as he raised his arms in triumph.

Peter bowed at her, not able to wipe the smile off his face. Finally. Something he had succeeded at. Of course, he had beaten the flower-man. But that wasn't exactly something he was going to brag about. This. _This_. This felt like a true win.

"Can I take this stupid armor off now?" he asked, his eyes burning from the sweat that seeped down his face.

She thought about it, and said, almost hesitantly, "I suppose so. We're done for today."

"Brilliant!" He wrenched the metal off, feeling as though he was shedding the weight of the world from his sore shoulders. When he had stripped every last piece off, he sat down next to her. He was breathing hard, but his face shone with happiness.

"You know," Ilena said, "you really should have more confidence in yourself. You're a gifted fighter."

Surprised by the unexpected compliment, he said, "Thank you. I appreciate that." He fell back into the dirt, but then got an idea. "Gifted enough to have a day off?"

Ilena rolled her eyes. "Don't get cocky. We all have things to improve on. It should please you to know you are making tremendous progress."

It was true. He could feel it. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew her lessons were doing their job. Peter had always been physically strong, but now it was almost ridiculous how much muscle he had put on. His body was healthy, lean, and ready to be put to the test.

"All thanks to you," he said, putting his hands behind his head.

"I don't - your improvement is entirely because of you."

Peter wondered why she wouldn't accept his gratitude. He rested his face on his hand and looked at her. She stared at him uneasily.

"What?"

"I'm not the only one who should have more confidence, I -"

Suddenly, his vision turned dark. Peter yelped in agony, slapping his hands to his face, as though hoping it might shield him from whatever it was that was affecting him. Emotions burned deep within him. He recognized it almost immediately.

Sylas was nearby.

But logic was lost as anger took over. He lowered his hands. Rage bubbled at his core. Ilena's eyes had gone impossibly wide. She bounded to her feet, a string of curses flying rapidly from her mouth. The sane part of him caught some of what she was saying.

"Not good, not good, not good," she rattled. "So stupid!"

Peter got up, staring her down. His eyes were pitch black, and his whole body quivered dangerously. He didn't look up as clapping filled the air. Ilena snapped to the source of the noise.

"Well, well, well," Sylas said, his long strides carrying him closer to her. "A party. And I wasn't invited?"

Ilena let out a deep hissing noise, and she continued to mumble away. Her stance was stiff as a board.

"My dear Ilena," Sylas cooed. "How wonderful to see you again." He looked to Peter. "Oh, and the High King as well."

"Let him go, Sylas."

Peter growled, the noise catching in his throat. The sane part hadn't given in completely; he was desperately trying to fight off what feelings weren't his own. He kept flashing back to what Ilena had said.

Control. Breathing. Blocking out pain. Distractions. Focusing.

"I think this young lad has something to say to you," Sylas said, and his pupils shot out.

Ilena's hand flew up in front of her to protect her. Peter's lip curled up. The sanity was being pulled away. Burning hatred took its place.

And then he lunged at her.


	16. Of New Beginnings

**CHAPTER 16 - Of New Beginnings **

Before he knew what was happening, Peter's feet soared off the ground. He felt no fear as he flew into the air, his arms pinned at his sides. He couldn't. Sylas wouldn't let him. He struggled against his bonds. He had to kill her. He had to.

But Ilena's magic held firm, keeping him locked in a tight paralysis. Her hand was held out between them, acting as a barrier. Her eyes had gone midnight-black. Sylas chuckled and ran his finger down her arm, circling her like a hawk. Ilena didn't show any signs of noticing him. Her focus remained on Peter.

"You can't save them," Sylas said. He ignored Peter's grunts of protest. "I don't see why you even try."

"Because I was given a second chance," Ilena spat, rotating her wrist just slightly. Peter fell silent. "Because I believe in something stronger than myself."

Sylas smirked. "My dear, there are a great many things stronger than you. But those things hold little potential to what you could accomplish. Look up. Look at what you are doing."

Ilena didn't move.

"Ahh, control never was your strong point." Suddenly, he seized her wrists and pulled her to him so they were staring each other in the eyes, black on black. Without the energy keeping him aloft Peter fell and crashed into the hard dirt. Sylas continued, "But you are learning. There is so much I could teach you. So much more you could be."

"I shall decide for myself who I am. And nothing you say can influence me to do otherwise. I've been there Sylas. I know what you're like. I'm not wasting this like I did years ago."

"I do not consider that wasting," Sylas said a few seconds later.

"Well I do!" Ilena shot back. "I'm not going back. Never! You twisted, vile-"

"Now, children," he said, "play nice. Name calling isn't very dignified."

Ilena glowered at him, and wrenched her hands from his. He laughed. Behind them, almost forgotten, Peter scrambled to his feet. Even through the smoldering anger that bubbled from within, he could feel a distant ache from where he had collided with the rock. Nevertheless, Sylas soon retook control and everything that did not revolve around death and despair left him.

"Neither is murder," Ilena retorted. Her eyes flashed to Peter.

"Depends on who you ask." Sylas glanced at Peter as well. "Oh, don't worry about him; he's only being possessed. Now, have you given any more thought to my proposition?"

"Remind me what that was again?"

"You joining me to conquer Narnia, destroy the royal family, and eventually Aslan."

"Oh, that one." Ilena flipped her hand over in a sassy way. "I think I'll pass, thanks. I have actually enjoyed retaining my sanity."

Sylas's lip gave a slight twitch. His hands flexed. Clearly, rejection did not sit well with him. "You are actually dismissing me in favor of them?" He pointed at Peter, who was practically foaming at the mouth.

"Strangely enough, I am." Ilena put her hands on her hips. She was growing more and more agitated by the moment. "Unlike you, they care about me. They are willing to stand by me. They don't manipulate and lie to me like a certain Avella I could name."

"I didn't lie; I just didn't tell the truth. You of all people should know, Ilena, that truth is in the eye of the beholder. What you consider to be trickery, I consider to be good business."

"Good business or not, take your false promises and leave."

Sylas tut-tut-tutted at her. "False? I think not. You know I am a man of my word, Ilena. That promise I made? It still stands today. You are the one who has to be willing to accept it. Which, as you just made so eloquently clear, you do not." He held out his hand. Inside was a lily, perfectly white and pristine. It looked out of place in his grasp. "But no matter. You'll see. I always win in the end."

Out of nowhere, Peter tackled Ilena to the ground. She had forgotten he was there, so wrapped up in what she was being told. But as Peter's body rammed into hers, and the two went sailing, she quickly regained her senses. Peter's fists were pummeling into her. Ilena brought her arms up, and the metal bracers hit his face. It dazed him long enough for her to push him off.

Peter's blood raced. His heart pounded in his chest. He could feel it. The fire burning deep in the back of his throat. It coaxed him, egged him on. Consumed him. His actions were not his own, yet they felt right. He should be hurting her, making her suffer. She deserved it. He didn't know why. Just that he hated her with every fiber of his being.

He attacked again. Ilena sidestepped him, but the tiny voice in the back of his mind was quicker. He moved as well, his hands forming a tight grip around her neck. She sputtered, but otherwise remained calm. Her eyes flashed red. Heat flashes burnt his skin. He let go of her with a strangled cry. All down his arms were white-hot scars.

"Cheater!" Sylas called, crossing his arms. He was enjoying the spectacle. "Magic on a mortal is prohibited."

"Never stopped you," Ilena reminded him.

"Ahh, but as you keep trying to explain, you aren't like me. You prefer to 'do the right thing.'" The last bit he put in air quotes.

"Why don't you just fight me yourself?" she dared. "Why do you need him? Are you a coward?"

"To be perfectly honest, you scare the crap out of me, woman. Never have I met such a…savage creature. I modeled my army after you, you know."

"Oh, wonderful!" Ilena cried sarcastically. "You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Sylas. What's next? My mistakes were their example for killing?"

"Something like that. You should feel honored. Rarely do I give credit to others."

"Oh yes, I feel so incredibly lifted."

Ilena raised her arms as Peter barreled forward. A gust of wind pushed him back, ten, twenty feet. He dug his heels into the ground, trying to keep himself righted. Sylas's voice whispered in his ear. _Make her beg for mercy. Kill her. KILL HER!_ it said. He needed no prodding. With a huff, he tried again to strike her.

Like before, Ilena cast him aside. She brought her hands down, keeping her fingers pointed at the ground. Then, she quickly brought them up. Roots exploded from the dirt and surged forward, racing towards Peter. Several latched onto his feet, effectively stopping him from moving. Ilena lowered her hands and turned to Sylas.

"Your battle is with me," she said.

"No. It never has been and it never will be," he assured her. "My fight goes higher. My fight is with Aslan."

"Then let Peter go."

Sylas shook his head. "No can do. You see, the Pevensies are the key to Aslan's return. Without them - without Queen Lucy, King Edmund and King Peter's undying faith in him - he will stay far away. It is only when they need him that he will reappear."

"You really have fallen," Ilena whispered, almost sadly. "You've forgotten. Everything."

"I forget nothing. What I choose to believe is another matter entirely. Last chance, Ilena. Give in."

Her eyes went black once more.

"Never."

Peter broke through the roots. The small part of his brain that resisted now disappeared completely. He was so far gone in the anger, the hatred that fueled his body, he wasn't aware of what was going on around him. All that mattered stood before him. His master. And his victim.

Ilena glanced at him warily. He snarled.

"So quickly they submerge. And you all call _me_ the Fallen." Sylas grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. He hissed at her. "You don't know what fallen is."

Ilena ducked, sensing the attack before it came. Above her head, Peter's sword surged. It cut through the air, right where her head had been not two seconds before. She twisted, heightening Peter's rage. Why couldn't she just stand still and let him kill her already?

Suddenly, a second sword sliced downward. She let out a short gasp and crawled out of the way. Behind her, she heard Sylas cackling madly. He and Peter were now both fighting her, their perfect unison the result of Sylas's control. She met their blades with the sharp side of the metal bracers on her wrists.

_Clang!_

The odds had just turned. Fighting an Avella was one thing. Fighting an Avella, and a deranged Pevensie was another thing entirely.

"Peter!" Ilena cried, blocking one of his blows. He didn't appear to hear her, and swiped again. She covered her face with her arms, feeling his weapon reverberate down the hard material.

""Peter! Peter!" Sylas mocked. "He cannot hear you-" he sliced at her cheek "-he cannot see you. He's blinded by emotion. Oh, how I enjoy these moments!"

Ilena was in a jam. She couldn't fade; leaving Peter with Sylas was not an option. She would have to fight. She'd have to defend herself. She glowered, her brow furrowing, and rose to her full height. "I do not fear you or your powers, Sylas."

"Good, good. Fear is such a useless feeling. I would expect you to be brave, Avella numero uno." He glanced sideways at Peter. "Fear of me is stupid. Fear for your friend? Now that is where the true fear lies." He turned on the oldest Pevensie, and struck.

Ilena's jaw dropped. It was the first sign of terror she had displayed throughout the fight. Poking through Peter's chest (he had removed his armor; why, oh why, had he removed his armor?) was Sylas's sword. Blood glistened the length of the blade, and Peter's body went limp.

"Much better!" Sylas exclaimed, pulling his sword back out.

Peter fell to the ground, his eyes rolling in his head. Everything left him - his anger, his frustration, his irritation. Panic spread through his body as he labored to breath. He couldn't remember anything. Not attacking Ilena, nor fighting alongside Sylas, nor Sylas stabbing him. Vaguely, he could trace the sound of gasping in the background, but he was losing consciousness. His mind retreated into its darkest corner.

Ilena lost it. Her eyes suddenly electrified, turning blinding white. Some untold energy flooded her system, and she lifted her arms up, feeling the ground respond. She bent her fingers, turning tense and constricted. And then, she slammed her entire body forward, her footstep creating a large crevice in the dirt. The force caused Sylas to shoot backward with an agonized bellow. Without pausing, Ilena swooped down, put her arms around Peter and thought of the one place that could help him.

"Water! I need water!" Susan screamed, for once not caring if she came off as rude. A baby was coming for Aslan's sake!

The woman behind her skidded around and flew out the door, no doubt heading for the infirmary. Or kitchen. Whichever her brain remembered first. Lucy took her place, sliding up next to Susan. Her eyes were large.

"Lucy, go somewhere else. Anywhere else," Susan pleaded just as Maria cried out in pain. The woman deserved privacy, something that was proving to be impossible. Every few seconds the door to the bedroom would clang open, then clang shut. The noise had doubled in the last half hour.

"No," Lucy said, shaking her head. She wanted to be there for Maria. To help her, and ease her.

"Ahhh," Caspian whispered as quietly as he could. Maria's grip on his hand was steadily turning his fingers purple. But he didn't comment on it. He just sat there, knowing, above all else, Maria wanted him by her side.

Maria was about three-quarters of the way through. So far, she had been doing magnificently. She never hesitated to do as Susan told her, despite how tired and weary she was becoming. Susan tried to talk her through it, but no words could help. The woman had drifted into another dimension.

"Water!" a voice called, and the woman who had sped out of the room appeared behind them, her hand clutched tightly around a large tub of steaming liquid. Susan seized the basin at once and dipped the towel that was draped over the side into the container. She wrung the towel out and placed it on Maria's forehead.

After a minute or so, Maria's face relaxed slightly, indicating that the majority of the pain had stopped. Breathing hard, she tried to steady herself. Her tight hold on Susan and Caspian's hands relaxed.

"Good, good, Maria," Susan praised her, trying to keep the Queen's spirits up. She brushed Maria's hair out of her eyes. "Only a few more."

Maria nodded tersely. Her face had gone incredibly pale and sweaty, and she kept gritting her teeth. Still, for all the pain she was in, she never once swore or talked ill to any of the people in the room. Her thoughts were all on the baby and getting it to this world safely.

The doors flung open. A male servant weaved his way through the crowd, and tapped Lucy on the shoulder. But then, he caught sight of Maria and froze. His eyes went wide. Susan exhaled in exasperation and cleared her throat pointedly. The man snapped back to Lucy.

"Your Majesty, come quickly! Avella requires your presence! She has told me to tell you to bring your vile. The High King has been injured."

Lucy, momentarily stunned, just looked at him, then turned to face Susan. Susan nodded furiously. "Just go!" she told her younger sister. "I will take care of Maria. Peter needs you!"

Lucy nodded furiously and without hesitation followed the servant back out the door. Susan watched her go, then turned back to Maria. Maria's face was bunching up, telling her that another episode was about to occur. She braced herself.

"Peter, stay with me! Stay with me," Ilena said, pleadingly. He was losing precious amounts of blood, and fast. If she didn't do something soon, he would surely die. She put her hands to his wound and closed her eyes, focusing all her energy. A white light glowed from her fingertips.

She was desperately trying to close the hole.

She stayed like that for a few minutes, her heart hammering in her chest. She was so tired. Fighting both him and Sylas had drained her physically and emotionally. She could feel the tug of exhaustion, nagging at the back of her mind. She wouldn't be able to keep this up forever.

"What happened?" Lucy screeched the moment she came upon them. The servant glanced nervously at her as she pushed him out of the way, the small flask of blood-red liquid in her hands. She knelt down beside her brother, her face a mixture of terror and disbelief.

"We were attacked. Lucy, I need you to use that on him. Now." Ilena winced as a large surge of magic expelled through her palms. "I can't do this alone."

Lucy uncorked the stopper and tilted the contents of the bottle into Peter's gaping mouth. A pool dribbled down his chin, but she managed to get some in. Then, in horror, she realized he wasn't swallowing it. "Ilena!" she cried. "It's not working! He can't drink it!"

Ilena grunted. The glow around her hands was slowly crawling over his body, enveloping him in a bright blanket. Her eyes flashed to Peter's face. "Push his head up. Do it carefully!"

Doing as she was told, the Valiant Queen gripped the back of her brother's neck and pulled him upward, so that the medicine could run down his throat. He wasn't breathing.

"Lucy," Ilena said, "stand back." Lucy balked at her, confused, but crawled away. Ilena exhaled slowly, putting all that she had into his wound. Beneath her hands, the blood slowly crept back into his lifeless form. The skin weaved together. Ilena was gasping for air, but she didn't remove her palm from his body.

A few minutes passed, during which Lucy witnessed one of the most amazing spectacles she had ever seen. Peter was, literally, coming to life before her very eyes. At last, Ilena collapsed next to him. Her face had gone very pale. At the same time, Peter exhaled, though his eyes did not open.

"Ilena?" Lucy said, putting her hand on the Avella's arm.

"One second," Ilena said, her face in her hands. "I'm ok. Just…tired."

Lucy glanced at Peter. "How come he's not waking up?"

"He's been…through a lot. It may take…several minutes….for him to come to."

Nodding, Lucy said, "Thank you. You saved his life."

Ilena shook her head. "No, we saved his life. I wouldn't have been able to heal him if not for your potion." She glanced up, her face still white. "How's Maria?"

"Ok, Maria, I need you to push," Susan said, staring the Queen in the eyes.

Maria nodded, and did as she was told. Her scream echoed down the corridor. She was so close. After nearly nine hours, she had reached the final stage of labor. All that was left to do was push.

"Keep going! Maria, you are doing incredible!" Susan cheered her on. Her hair was messy and disheveled, and she was positive she had lost all circulation in her hand. But none of that mattered. No, the only important thing was to help Maria through the last little bit.

Maria pushed as hard as she could. Colorful dots broke along her vision. Beside her, Caspian watched in anticipation, wishing that more than anything he could spare his wife the pain. He had done wonderfully after receiving the slap from Susan - any doubt about his currently unborn child had vanished.

"I can see the head!" Susan said. A midwife stood alongside the bed, ready to intervene. "One more, Maria! Just one more!"

With a grunt of effort, Maria made the final push, and the baby slid into the world. The midwife seized the tiny newborn, and cut the cord. Maria fell back against the pillow, breathing hard. Sweat pooled down her face. Caspian kept kissing her forehead, telling her how much he loved her.

"It's a girl!" Susan exclaimed, taking the bundle from the midwife. She peered down into the clump of blankets the new princess was wrapped. Porcelain skin. Wild black hair. Perfect in every way. Susan approached the bedside and gently placed her in her mother's arms.

Caspian was trying to hold in tears. He grasped his daughter's fragile hand carefully. Maria was staring in wonder, still breathing hard. She clutched the baby to her chest. "Thank you, thank you," she kept saying. The room broke out into applause, and several of the female servants started bawling.

"What shall we name her?" Caspian asked, looking to his wife with complete adoration.

"Ava," Maria answered. "After your mother."

"Ava it is," Caspian agreed. He glanced up at Susan and waved for her to join them. "Come say hello."

Susan, though she felt like she was intruding on their special moment, moved up and stared down at the baby.

"Ava," Maria said, holding the baby up. "Say hello to your Aunt Susan."

"Hello," Susan said, her voice small. "Hello, Ava."

In that instant, warmth enveloped Susan from head to toe. She had helped Maria. She had helped bring this thing - this tiny, beautiful creature - into the world. And for the first time since returning to Narnia, Susan felt like she was home.


	17. And Mixed Emotions

**CHAPTER 17 – And Mixed Emotions**

They had forgotten him. No doubt they were all caught up in their own little worlds, happy as clams. Not a second thought to his aching muscles. Not a double-take to his tired eyes. Nothing.

Not that he necessarily minded. Now, he had never had a baby. Some things just weren't possible. But he imagined it was difficult. Painful, even. He had certainly encountered enough birthing mothers to know that. Of course, usually he didn't stick around to watch. But still. Maria was forgiven. She was probably asleep. And Caspian…well, he wasn't sure _he_ could handle being a father, so Caspian was probably freaking out. Ilena and Peter. He hadn't seen either of them in days. Lucy and Susan. They were probably taking care of the baby.

Edmund, wishing more than anything for some excitement, was seated in the hard, wooden chair in the dungeon, trying to keep his eyelids open. He kept sliding into slumber, the hours slipping past him slowly. He had lost count of how long he had been sitting there. Nine? Ten? It was impossible to tell.

Across from him, the Cantrical girl watched him eagerly, unperturbed by the length of his stay. Time meant nothing to her. Her wide eyes, so hauntingly blue, followed his every movement. The dip of his head. The shutting of his eyes. The lack of control over his muscles. She saw it all.

Edmund wanted to tell her to be quiet. She kept mumbling his name, like a never-ending chant. "Edmund, Edmund, Edmund," she said, her lips moving quickly. The sound echoed in his mind, until he no longer recognized his name. It sounded foreign to his ears. Still, her rhythm kept him awake. That had to count for something.

"Edmund," he repeated after her, without thinking about it.

She glowed at the sound of his voice, momentarily stopping her ritual. Her finger glided over the granite floor, tracing circles and other pictures he couldn't decipher. The food he had been bringing her had finally taken effect. She wasn't healthy – far from it. But he could see the difference a couple of pounds had done her. Her skin regained some color. A shine twinkled in her eyes. Her hair retained turned sleek, despite the fact that she had gone several weeks without a bath.

Yes, she looked much better.

But nothing could compare to her intellectual growth. The savage hunter was slowly fading, replaced by something – well, he couldn't quite tell what yet. Something better. She reacted to him with ease. She no longer mashed herself against the bars. She accepted her breakfast, lunch, and dinner without complaint.

And she always, always said his name.

"Edmund," she started again, moving the finger up to point at him.

He nodded at her, indicating his notice. His vision was a little fuzzy, most likely drained of life from his continual watch. However, he had enough consciousness left to comprehend and return her words.

"Edmund," he agreed.

She clapped her hands together like a small child. It reminded him of when Lucy was younger and she had started to learn to speak. Each time she was able to repeat a word, she grew happy. Much like this girl.

"Lily," she suddenly said.

Edmund, despite his exhaustion, looked up, confusion addling his brain. Had she just…? "Sorry?" he said, watching her through skeptical eyes.

"Lily," she said again. The way her mouth formed the word, you would think she had been saying it all along.

"What's…Lily?" he inquired, stretching his legs out.

The girl shrugged. "Lily. Lily. Lily."

Lily. A…flower? What did that have to do with anything? And better yet – how did she know what a lily was? She was supposed to be a blood-thirsty monster, content with killing innocent people. Somehow, a flower didn't mix well.

"Lily," she pointed to the ground, tracing another circle. He watched her pale finger with interest. It sloped delicately against the floor, carving imaginary lines. He wasn't sure what she was seeing.

"Lily," she pointed to herself this time. Her face was lit in exultation, as though she had just figured out the meaning of life. Edmund balked at her, still confused. Then, a light bulb went off.

"Lily…as in…you?"

She nodded furiously, sending her red locks in all directions, so that her head looked like it was on fire. Her left hand had found the bars and was desperately clinging to them as though her life depended on it. She was screaming now.

"LILY!" She waggled her legs furiously, dispelling some of her pent-up energy.

"Ok, ok!" Edmund yelled over her voice, standing up. "You're Lily. YOU'RE LILY. I get it."

Lily continued shouting. Like Edmund, she got to her feet. She started running around in her cell, patting the walls eagerly with an upturned palm. Her face glowed with excitement. With each lap that she ran across the tiny space, she looked up at him.

Each time, he felt his breath leave his body.

"Stop!" he bellowed when she opened her mouth and let out a loud, high-pitched wail that rebounded off the granite walls. He clapped his hands over his ears as her tirade went on. "STOP!"

Finally, after several minutes, she collapsed on the floor, breathing hard. Resting her head against the bars, she rapped her knuckles, dried with weeks' old blood, against the metal. "Lily. Lily. Lily."

Edmund could only imagine the overload of information she was experiencing. He felt sure that he had just witnessed some sort of miracle. Her identity. She had found it. She knew her name. At least, he assumed it was her name. Who knew for sure?

Other than Sylas. And he might not even know.

"Lily," he said slowly. Her head perked up instantly. Something, he knew, had snapped within her. "Are you sure?"

She nodded her head so fast, he thought it might shoot off her body. Well, then. If she felt confident, he could not deny her.

"Ok. Hi, Lily." The words came awkwardly. After so many weeks referring to her as the 'Cantrical Girl' he knew change would be difficult. But not impossible. She looked like a lily. A tiny, fragile, breakable flower. Of course she had spirit. But she also had weakness. Her body in itself looked like it might shatter.

"Ehmun," she said. And then the surprises continued. She held out her hand. A harmless gesture. But one that spoke volumes.

Stiffly, Edmund approached the cell, feeling her eyes boring into him with each step. Everything had changed. In a single instant, every tiny, microscopic thing he felt certain of had come crashing down around him. Slowly, he crouched down and eased himself across from her. She stuck her leg between the bars and the tip of her bare foot touched the toe of his boot.

He shivered.

"Ehmun," she repeated herself, swinging her hand to remind him.

He looked at it. Dirty. Broken, cracked nails. Peeling skin. Blood. He reached out until their fingers were touching. Then, he slid his into hers.

She squeezed in response.

A lump caught in the back of his throat. His eyes flickered up to hers. She smiled. Edmund exhaled roughly.

"Nice to meet you, Lily."

"Ehmun."

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Lucy," Susan groaned, glancing at her sister. "Could you please stop that? You're going to wake Ava up." Instinctively, she grasped the blanket tucked around the newborn's body and pulled it up around her chin. It didn't matter that the temperature hovered in the high eighties.

Lucy stopped, scowling, and forced herself to sit down in the nearest chair. "Sorry," she said after a minute. I can't help it! I'm worried."

Susan softened at this, and threw her a sympathetic look. "About Peter?" A nod. "Me, too. But, Lucy, there's really nothing we can do."

This argument fell on deaf ears. "But there has to be!" Lucy declared, turning to face the window. Outside, the trees swayed. The birds sung. The clouds drifted. A perfect afternoon.

Only not.

With a sigh, Susan leaned forward and set her book down on the table before placing her hands in her lap. "But there isn't. If Ilena hasn't figure out the problem, then neither will we. Your potion will only do so much." Lucy didn't answer. "You should be proud."

"Proud?" Lucy swiveled around, her face incredulous. "Proud of what?"

"You saved his life. Without you, he would have died. Ilena told me so. For that, you should be proud."

"But he's dying!"

"Ilena doesn't believe so."

Lucy pursed her lips. "Yes," she replied slowly, "but why else won't he-"

"When Ilena knows, we'll know. Dwelling on something you have no control over won't help."

From the corner, Maria piped up, lifting herself off the bed she had been confined to for over twenty-four hours. "Forgive me, Lucy, but I believe your sister is right. At the moment, the only thing we can do is pray he will come back to us, and soon. Until he does, we must put our faith in Aslan and the Avella."

Crossing her arms in annoyance, Lucy's eyebrows slanted downward. "I hate waiting."

"Do not we all?" said Maria. She walked – well, more like waddled as a result of her still-large belly – over to the crib next to Susan. "Like I said, faith. Ilena will find him. Of this, I am certain."

Susan suddenly realized how odd the conversation had gotten. Usually, Lucy assumed the role of reassurance. It was she who reminded them to believe. It was she who expressed undying love and adoration. It was she who kept them hoping.

And now the roles had reversed.

This time, Susan and Maria were the ones reminding Lucy. Lucy. The little girl who danced with trees. To say that Peter's condition had not shaken her would have been a lie.

"Breakfast time," Maria sang, gently plucking the tiny bundle from the crib. Ava's eyes blinked open. Whenever she did this, Susan felt a strike of familiarity. The child had Maria's hair and Caspian's eyes. Clutching Ava to her chest, Maria, with Susan's help, took her seat in the armchair and readied herself to breastfeed.

Lucy turned her head back to the courtyard, feeling tension mount in her shoulders. Faith. Trust. Aslan hadn't come. Not yet. Peter had almost died. Edmund had almost died. They had certainly proved themselves, right? Aslan had no reason to _not_ come.

But of course he would come. He was Aslan. He _came_. How could she be thinking this?

A thought struck her. What if…what if she was turning like the rest of them? She had never questioned Aslan before. Not once. Never. She loved him. And he loved her. But… But then why were these thoughts clouding her head? Why did she have doubts? Was it really possible that she was growing up? Losing faith? Turning into an adult?

"I'm forgetting!" she cried. And indeed she was, she realized, as her companions' heads snapped up.

"Forgetting?" Susan repeated, her expression quizzical. "Forgetting what?"

Oops. Had she just said that out loud?

Yes, yes she had. And she couldn't take it back. Not now.

So, miserably, she said, "I think I'm forgetting. Everything. I'm forgetting Aslan."

"Forgetting Aslan? Why, Lucy, that's ridiculous!" Susan bit back her next statement when Lucy suddenly burst into tears. Getting to her feet, she crossed the room to the window, picked Lucy up and placed her in her lap. Just as her mother had done to her so many times back in Finchley.

"Oh, Lucy," Susan cooed. Behind them, Maria watched uneasily.

Lucy sniffled, taken by surprise. Susan had never been one to comfort. She preferred to ignore her feelings rather than face them head-on. Vaguely, she could feel Susan's hand on her back, soothing her.

"You're not forgetting," Susan went on, after Lucy had calmed down. "I promise. We've all gone through this. Look at me. Look at Peter."

This appeared to be the wrong thing to say because Lucy started crying again at the mention of Peter's name. "Exactly!" she blubbered. "Look at you! You don't even like being here! You hate Narnia! You don't believe in it! You said so yourself!"

Susan didn't respond. Her eyes had gone very distant. The silence seemed to confirm Lucy's fears, until, at last, she spoke. "I did. I did hate Narnia. A lot. But, Lucy," she moved her sister's body around to look at her. "I haven't lost faith. Look at me. I'm here. And I'm…happy. Truly happy. Happier than I've been in awhile."

"You're lying."

"A proper lady doesn't lie," Susan countered. "I mean it. I…I really did miss this place. I'm just now starting to realize how much."

"But what if I forget to believe?" Lucy wiped her face, rubbing at her eyes.

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I just know."

"Peter Pevensie, you are entirely impossible."

Ilena exhaled sharply, causing Caspian to stumble forward in panic. She shook her head, silently telling him to stop. Though her eyes were closed, she had sensed what he was about to do.

"Please, Avella, you must rest. You must eat," he pleaded with her. He picked up the cup on the side-table and held it forward, as an offering. Just as he had suspected she would, she shook her head again.

"No," she told him, wincing.

Caspian resisted the urge to grab her by the waist, pin her down, and force the water down her throat. He'd make her use magic to stop him if it meant getting her some nourishment. Only the knowledge that he would never make it that far kept him from leaping forward.

In short, he was worried. One second he was heralding the birth of his daughter – his daughter! The idea made him blissfully happy – and the next, he was being told that Peter was dying. The day turned bittersweet real fast. Almost blindly, he had scrambled for the infirmary, his adrenaline spiking, to find Ilena holding the High King's face in her lap, her hands clamped on either side of his head, a light glow emitting from her fingertips.

And she had stayed that way for the past day, refusing any comfort. He knew her body was weak. Lucy had explained all that had transpired earlier, including Peter's miraculous recovery. Only it hadn't been so miraculous, as they'd all learned.

Peter was lost. Not in the physical sense. In the mind sense. After an hour of showing no signs of waking, Ilena had finally regained enough strength to continue her healing. Though she had managed to completely seal the hole in his chest, she had found something far more alarming.

She couldn't hear him.

His body had gone silent. It lived, breathed, yes. But his mind was dark. Quiet. She had explained that every being had an aura about them – something that she could feel when their mental processes were alive. But with Peter, she heard nothing.

And it had scared her.

Over the past expanse of hours, she had been searching through his mind, looking for even the tiniest glimpse of activity. So far, she had found none. Throughout this process, she had remained rigid as a stone, ignoring the constant shuffling of servants in and out of the infirmary. She was, as she said numerous times, still searching.

And she had also let them know that if she didn't find Peter soon, he'd never wake up.

"Avella," Caspian whispered, placing his hands on the brass bar at the end of the bed. She would not even be seated on it were it not for Caspian ordering some of the servants to transfer her to a more comfortable spot. She hadn't so much as flinched when they steered her to the mattress. And it had helped, but not enough. She couldn't keep this up forever. Sooner or later, her own body would fail her. "Do not make me beg. You need energy."

Ilena shook her head once more, the only reaction he had achieved thus far. She seemed bent on staying locked in her position. Her fingers kept dancing around Peter's temples, swirling, creating light patterns across his skin. His chest rose and fell softly, but still he did not wake.

"Just some water. Then you may return to your task." Another shake. "Please! If you do not, you might collapse, and then Peter will have no chance."

"I'm getting closer," Ilena stated, so spontaneously, Caspian thought he might have imagined it.

"Closer?" he echoed.

"I can hear something," she whispered, and suddenly her eyes tightened, creating tiny creases across her forehead. Beads of sweat ran down her face.

"You can?"

But no answer came. She was back in whatever world she had been living in for the past twenty-four hours.

More time passed. At some point, Peter's body gave a great shuddering gasp, before falling still. Ilena winced at this, as though the process had stripped her of strength. But then the moment passed, and both boy and girl were back to square one. Eventually, Caspian left, promising that he would send someone to watch over them.

"Peter," Ilena whispered as soon as Caspian was out of range, her voice unnaturally high. Her entire body heaved, gasping for oxygen. Her lungs were on fire. "Wake up. Wake up."

His mind resisted. She could feel it: Sylas had somehow gained control of Peter's thoughts and emotions. He had built a wall; a wall she kept trying to break through, unsuccessfully. Occasionally she would hear a whisper, which would disappear the moment she latched onto it.

Her focus slipped. She was steadily loosing momentum.

"Damn it, wake up!" she hissed, as one of Sylas's defenses hit hers. Her body swayed, but she remained upright. With each barrier she came in contact with, she grew weaker. She was making progress, yes, but she would pass out before making it to the center of the mystical hold at this rate.

Five minutes. Susan ambled through the door. When she laid eyes on the scene before her, she gasped. Ilena hissed, her entire form rippling with tension. Without a word, Susan leapt to the bedside and put her hand on Peter's forehead.

"Don't," Ilena barked. Any external touch made it more difficult.

Susan let go.

"Get Lucy," Ilena commanded, her eyes still shut. Only a few more… Just a few more…

Susan lingered, unsure if she should comply. But when Ilena let out a pained cry, Susan turned on her heels and flew out of the room, her dress swooping out behind her. When she was gone, Ilena let out a deep breath and expelled everything she had. The strain was terrible, crippling.

But it worked.

Slowly, so very slowly, she grasped onto a few stray thoughts and pulled them forward. Each felt like an eternity; a splinter that refused to be removed. Yet, she did it. At the end of several long, agonizing moments, she felt a sudden rush, and then…

Peter opened his eyes.

Ilena breathed a deep sigh, and put her hand out on the mattress to steady herself. Peter gazed up, disoriented.

Where was he? He didn't recognize….wait….the infirmary? What? What was he doing here? The last thing he remembered was fighting Sylas… Fighting Ilena… And then, pain.

He caught sight of her and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he got a good look at her. She looked like death. Literally. Her face, usually golden with a healthy glow was pale and clammy. Her eyes had that wild look in them. Her hair was drenched in sweat. And she was breathing. No, panting.

"Are…you…ok?" she asked. The corners of her mouth lifted up into a smile. A tired smile, but a smile nonetheless.

He nodded.

"Good. And Peter?"

He raised an eyebrow, too tired to do more.

"If you ever…scare me…like that again…I swear on every Avella…and Aslan himself…that I will bring…you back to life…just so I can…kill you myself."

With that, she slumped against the headboard, her eyes sliding shut, leaving a very confused Peter in her wake.


	18. The Avella's Tale

**CHAPTER 18 - The Avella's Tale**

"Peter."

He snorted, turning his head further into his pillow to distance himself from the voice. His bed felt so good. Soft. Warm. So much better than the infirmary's scratchy sheets. Not to mention the weight of exhaustion had settled on his eyelids. Even if he tried, he knew he would not be able to open them.

So he ignored the calls.

Something brushed against his back. Just a fleeting touch that sent chills down his spine. He groaned, curling into an even tighter ball. Not now. Not in the middle of the night. Not when he felt so tired.

"Peter."

Annoyance flared. Against his better judgment, he cracked open a sleepy eyelid and peered into the darkness. Above him a shape huddled, its hand outstretched. He blinked. Slowly, the shape took form. An angular face. Two wide, bright eyes. Dark hair pulled up high.

"What?" he croaked, his voice husky. He cleared his throat. "What's wrong?"

Ilena bit her lip. Even in the inky-blackness, Peter could tell she felt uncomfortable. "I want to show you something."

"Can it wait 'til morning?" he asked, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes. By his estimate, it couldn't be later than four or five.

She shook her head. "No. It has to be now. Look, I'm sorry for waking you. I know it's early. But I really want you to see this."

She sounded so…well, un-Ilena like. Her voice had gone unnaturally soft. Almost pleading. But excited as well. Perhaps her tone was what made him pull back his covers and swing his legs over the side of his mattress. She had done so much for him in the past few days. She had saved his life. If she wanted to show him something, who was he to argue?

"Ok," he sighed, standing up. His muscles popped as he pulled his arms high above his head. Ilena grinned. Her eyes were glowing emerald-green. Had he awoken to her gaze, he probably would have wet the bed on sight.

"Thank you," she whispered, moving toward the door. "Get dressed. I'll be back in a minute."

Before she could go, he asked, "Wait, do I need my armor?" The last thing he wanted was to have an early morning practice session. He had only just been released from the infirmary, after having spent four days confined to the bed.

"No, you won't," she assured him; and, as though reading his mind, added, "No training today. This, I think you will actually enjoy." And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Peter rubbed his eyes, breathing deeply. Relief flooded through him. He couldn't lie: his chest hurt. A lot. Ilena had healed him, but even she could not take away the physical pain that spread like wildfire each time he inhaled. Sparring would most likely cripple him for life.

Turning, he maneuvered his way to his trunk and (after stubbing his toe not once, but twice) dug around inside, searching for a fresh tunic. Moonlight streamed in from the open window leading out to his balcony, illuminating a patch of evergreen-colored rug. He used this light to dress himself. Just as he was pulling on his boots, he heard a gentle knock on the door. After giving his consent, Ilena strolled in.

"Ready?" she asked him. She was wearing light-brown, knee-length breeches and a white, sleeveless top. A wicker basket hung from her arm. When he asked about it, she merely silenced him with a devious smile.

"I suppose so," he said hesitantly. She approached him, her hands aloft. Without thinking, he placed his palms against hers and waited for her to fade. When she didn't he said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied. "I'm just trying to locate our destination." She continued to stare off into the distance.

"Shouldn't you know where we're going _before_ we go there?" he asked. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"This place is unique," she answered. "It's built on magic. Every day it shifts to a new place in Narnia. I have to sense it each time I want to visit." Her eyes snapped back to his, and she smiled softly. "Ah, found it. Now hold on."

Together, they faded. Peter looked down in time to see his lower torso take on the appearance of the floor, before he stumbled to the ground. Ilena let go of his hands and was swallowed up in the darkness of the early morning. He groped after her, unable to see anything beyond his nose. Somewhere, he heard her laugh. He strained his eyes.

"Oh, quit worrying. I'm not leaving."

A thud echoed off his right side. Tall shadows towered over him, and he could smell pine-needles. In the background came the sound of rushing water. Something scurried by his foot.

Magic. He could feel it. It hummed loudly, coursing in his veins. It weaved through the air, sending out electric vibrations that made his ears tingle. It pounded against the surface of the ground, pulsating loudly. Oh,yes, he could feel it. And he knew why Ilena would be attracted to such a place. It filled him with joy and happiness. He felt freedom.

"Ilena?" he called out, his voice still rough. He clambered to his feet, holding his arms out in front of him to keep from running into anything. It'd be just his luck to stub his already-stubbed toe.

"Shhh," came the reply. Suddenly, a hand found his shoulder. He gasped, and another hand clamped over his mouth. "For Aslan's sake, Peter, be _quiet_. Otherwise, they'll never come."

"'They?'" he asked, suspiciously when she had let go of him. "Who's 'they'?"

"You'll see."

Ilena then instructed him to sit down, something he did warily. He felt exposed. The darkness left him vulnerable, and uneasy. Were he attacked, he'd never be able to defend himself. As such, he had to put all of his trust in Ilena, and her crazy ideas.

"Do you hear that?" she said, sitting down next to him. Her hand reached out and found his, speaking wordless reassurance. She was here. She wouldn't leave him alone.

Just as he was about to answer, "No," he heard it. A voice vocalizing. It rang loud and clear, filling the empty void around them in sound. It echoed, sending out a ring of shorter, smaller voices. His shoulders tensed as another voice answered, repeating the call. Then another.

_High is the moon tonight  
__Hiding its guiding light  
__High_

"Relax," Ilena told him, feeling his insides squirm. "They won't hurt us."

"But who are they?" he said, almost desperately.

"They are the spirits of Narnia. The elements. The souls of nature." Her hand left his, and he clawed out after her. She laughed. "I promise you, Peter, I'm not leaving. However, my roll is fast approaching. I have to be ready."

He wanted to ask her what she meant, but she started singing, joining those ghostly spirits in their song.

_Heaven and earth do sleep  
__Still in the dark so deep  
__I will the darkness sweep_

As she sang, the energy in the air heightened. The wind picked up briskly, tousling his hair. She had moved beyond his range, so he could no longer see her. But he could feel her. Her presence moved lightly about, sending life shooting in every direction. He heard a thump, and spread his arms forward. The object he came across was one of her dainty, white slippers. Confusion addled his brain.

_I will the moon to flight  
__I will the heavens bright  
__I will the earth delight_

Something moved next to him. He turned, and inhaled sharply. A flower-woman was reaching out to him. Swirling masses of pink petals formed her body. She was on her hands and knees, smiling kindly at him. He could just barely make her out. It only he had a little light….

A second later, he got his wish. On the horizon, leagues and leagues away, the first colors of morning graced the sky. Light danced across the heavens, creating a rainbow of reds, oranges, purples. Though faint, it provided enough light for him to catch sight of Ilena. She stood several meters away, facing the sunrise. Her second slipper had been tossed carelessly against the forest floor, and her bare feet looked odd. Behind her bloomed a trail of wildflowers.

_Open your eyes with me  
__See paradise with me  
__Awake and arise with me_

Ilena swiveled around to him, her smile one of pure happiness. He had never seen her so comfortable, so peaceful with her surroundings. A twinge panged through his stomach. It was not painful. Just…there. She shook her head, her eyes sparkling, her hair shining in the sun's light. Then she turned back and spread her arms wide.

_I am the dawn, I'm the new day begun  
__I bring you the morning, I bring you the sun  
__I hold back the night and I open the skies  
__I give light to the world, I give sight to your eyes_

All at once, the air came alive. Two dozen spirits - some in the forms of flower petals, others floating water; some rocky cyclones, and still others made of light beams themselves - exploded from the ground, expelling up into the sky. They formed a circle around Ilena, whose mouth formed some of the sweetest, most powerful notes to ever grace Peter's ears.

_From the first of all time, until time is undone  
__Forever and ever and ever and ever  
__And I am the dawn and the sky and the sun  
__I am one with the One, and I am the dawn_

The sun rose rapidly now. The clouds overhead changed, sporting brilliant waves of gold. The other beings - the spirits - joined in, their angelic voices matching Ilena's. And then, they were dancing. Men and women (At least, Peter thought they were men and women. It was quite difficult to tell.) joined together and starting flying around, filling the clearing they were in with the very essence of life. The sun arched up, up, up.

Ilena continued. She raised her arms, coaxing the light higher. The dancing grew faster. Two women, one of flowers, another of rock, grasped Peter under the armpits. Helping him to his feet, they pulled him around in a circle, much like Lucy had done as a young child during a game of merry-go-round. For some reason, he found himself laughing. He felt so free. So alive.

One of the women tugged him too hard, and he was sent sprawling. Ilena caught him, and she started to dance as well. Her feet moved quickly, and he had to work hard to keep up. Everywhere she stepped, flowers sprang from the ground. She kept eye-contact with him the whole time, laughing and singing.

_I am the sky and the dawn and the sun  
__I am the sky and the new day begun  
__I am the sky and the dawn and the sun_

When the last chord sprang forth, the spirits rose even higher, their elements mixing together. The sun washed over them, dousing them in a bright glow. When Ilena closed her mouth, they fell down to the ground. The minute they touched the hard, rocky floor, they faded and disappeared, leaving Ilena and Peter alone.

* * *

"I told you it would be worth it," Ilena said, smiling.

"It was," Peter agreed after a pause. It had been. Never before had he felt such vigor. Such passion. Such life. Endorphins were pumping through his brain. He was riding the wave of a natural high. "When did you learn to do that?"

"I've always known how," she answered, her eyes finding his. "It's part of my role as Avella. I am in charge of returning life to Narnia. Everyday I bring the sun up, and everyday I set it back down." She sighed happily. "It's my favorite thing to do. Not only does it help others, but it helps me as well. It heals me."

"I can see why," Peter said. The hole in his chest, for the first time in days, did not throb. His heart, on the other hand, beat wildly against him. "Thank you."

She nodded. "We both needed it." She reached into the wicker basket and pulled out a roll, biting into it. She had brought them a feast. Breakfast was, obviously, out of the question. The sun had already risen high up into the sky.

"Edmund's going to kill me," Peter laughed.

"Why?"

"Because I was supposed to be on guard duty last night, and I never showed up." The minute his head had hit the pillow he had been out like a light. He chuckled again. "I really should be there now."

"Peter," Ilena said, causing him to look up at her. "I do have ulterior motives for bringing you here today."

Well, that certainly wasn't what he wanted to hear. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He knew it. She was going to make him train. She had lied.

Ilena's finger traced through the dirt, forming tiny rainbows. "I…this is difficult for me." That caught his interest, so she went on. "I really…I'd like to tell you a story. I mean, if that's all right with you…"

Surprised by the sudden change in her tone, he sat up, leaning on his side. "Of course it is…"

"First, let me say something before you make up your mind. My story isn't a happy one, Peter. There is pain. And sadness. And vengeance. I don't pretend to live in a fairytale."

"Go on," he said, now _very_ interested.

She sighed. "Ok." She pulled her legs up, huddling them to her body. "As you may have realized, I'm not the strongest of my kind. I was, as you said, 'the rough draft.' After my creation, I constantly got in trouble. I couldn't control my actions. Random oceans would pop up whenever I did so much as sneeze. I remember this one time," she exhaled, "I came upon this little girl, crying. I felt so badly for her. I reached out to touch her, comfort her. But the moment I did, she turned into a tree."

"A tree?" Peter tried to keep his laughter in.

"Yes, a tree. Looking back, I suppose it _is_ funny. But at the time, I nearly lost my head, I was so scared. Aslan righted her in the end, but, even now, I still feel guilty. In short, I was lost. I couldn't ask Aslan for help. He had other matters to attend to. And then, he created Sylas." A drop of acid colored her tone. "He wasn't always the sadistic person you have had the privilege of meeting. In the beginning he used his powers for good. Being that last of the first Avellas created, his powers were quite a bit more powerful than those before him. In a word, he was perfect.

"I had always known of him. Even among the Avellas, he was a legend. Some say Aslan put a little bit of himself into Sylas. One day I had the chance of meeting him. He was everything I had heard of: kind, gracious, wonderful. Imagine how I felt when he asked to be my friend. There I was, a complete failure, making friends with the most powerful Avella ever created. He became my best friend."

"Best friend..." Peter couldn't see it. She hated Sylas. Whenever they were near one another, they were at each other's throats, like a pack of wolves.

"Yes." Ilena nodded, slowly, robotic. "He pulled me in. I trusted him. Maybe even more so than Aslan. He never questioned me, never made me feel incomplete with my powers. How could I not have trusted him?

"But then, of course, he started to fall. Even now I can't say I blame him. Narnia is so filled with anger, hatred, sorrow, despair. It all became too much. I didn't see it at first. Either that or I just told myself his change wasn't happening. He pulled me in even closer during that time, begging for my support. I couldn't say no. He had done so much for me. I could and would not leave my friend in his time of need.

"He changed so quickly. One morning, he killed a family. Two children. He tried to tell me it was an accident, but I finally realized he was losing it. I was in a dilemma. I had promised him I would never give up on him, but I couldn't condone what he was doing. He was dangerous, and I was only aiding him on his rise to power.

"Logic eventually settled in. I explained to him that I wouldn't fight him, but I wouldn't help him either. You could say it was my back exit. Suffice to say, he did not like it. He challenged me, screamed at me, terrible, horrible things I won't repeat. He got so mad, he struck at me. I tried to use my powers, but they were so weak next to his. He laughed. Everything, all the trust and faith I had in him was vanishing before my eyes.

"He nearly killed me. His powers today are just a fraction of what they once were. He fought his way into my mind, and overtook my emotions and thoughts. I tried to fight back, really I did. But I was too weak. Right before he was about to give the final blow, Aslan appeared."

Her voice was getting stronger now, her arms tighter around her legs. Peter could only imagine the grief and guilt washing through her. He felt a pang of sadness for her and reached out, taking one of her hands.

"And?" he prompted, though he thought he might already know the answer.

"Sylas and Aslan fought. I can't describe the battle to you; you had to have been there. It was one of the scariest things I have ever seen. Sylas was almost as powerful as Aslan. He fed off the negative energy of Narnia, and Aslan fed off of the positive. Aslan came so very close to losing. And if he had, it would have been my fault. You see, Sylas had only attached himself to me because of my fears. He used them, manipulated them to make him stronger. The anger at my inability to control my powers, the depression of never being good enough - he used it all. Being an Avella as well, my emotions were stronger than a normal person's. I made him what he is.

"Eventually Aslan won. He exiled Sylas from Narnia, trapping him in his own mind. Later, Aslan tried to tell me it was not my fault. He tried to comfort me. But I was so mad, so despondent, nothing he said got through. I left Narnia myself and lived alone in your world for a hundred years. During my absence, the White Witch rose to power. Though I was Mother Nature, because I was gone, she was able to bring winter to Narnia. Again, I failed."

They were nearing the end of the tale. Ilena had taken several deep breaths, trying to steady herself. Peter did not say anything. Truthfully, he still hadn't digested all of what she had told him. Also, he had no idea _what_ to say.

"While on my own, I practiced. I knew I had to become stronger. Everyday I worked hard, trying to hone my skills, to gain control over what I could do. You are now following a simpler version of what my training schedule became."

"That's comforting," Peter said, smiling.

She smiled softly. "I did not return to Narnia until after you all had left the first time. Aslan found me and told me he forgave me, and that he still loved me. This time, I tried to believe him. He asked me to remain in Narnia. I did so. When you battled against the Telmarines, I aided you for the first time."

Peter remembered: the trees had come to life.

"You did that?" he said.

"Yes," Ilena replied. "I felt so happy. It was the first time I had ever accomplished anything. Since then, I tried to help Caspian with the war effort, but there wasn't much I could do. And then you all appeared again. You found me at the water's edge. And the rest is history." She waited for him to speak.

"That was…um…"

"Terrible, isn't it?" she asked. "I told you it wasn't a happy story. Sylas betrayed me, I failed to act - it was all one big, happy ending, really."

"With Sylas," Peter said, slowly, "did you…love him?"

Ilena raised an eyebrow, but shook her head. "No. As a friend, yes. But nothing more. He offered the companionship and unconditional faith that I needed."

"So that's what he has been referring to? The battle between you?"

"Yes."

"But why…why does he want to have you as his queen? Doesn't he - no offense - hate you?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Probably. I think, ultimately, Sylas knows I am still facing demons. I don't have the most confidence in my control, and my emotions run wild. I try to reign them in as best I can, but sometimes they get the better of me."

Well, that explained how she managed to keep her face so impassive. That explained everything. But something still itched at the back of Peter's mind.

"I thought you said he couldn't control you."

"He can't," she said. "After the battle, I worked hard to protect myself. You wouldn't believe how many walls and barriers I have around my mind to keep him out. Sometimes I still hear him. I do my best, though."

"And this training you are having me do…it's so that I can be like you and control my thoughts."

She shook her head. "No, it's so that you can stay alive."

He let himself fall back against the grass, and close his eyes. Vaguely, he heard Ilena do the same. He wanted to reach out, to tell her that she was so much stronger than she gave herself credit for. More than anything, he wanted to tell her it would all be ok. But instead, he merely held out his hand.

After a few seconds, she took it. Hers felt cold - the story had affected her even more than she had let on.

"Thanks for telling me," Peter whispered, feeling the sun's rays wash over them, warming them.

"Thanks for listening," she replied.

They stayed like that for a long time. Peter slowly lost track of the hours. All thoughts of the war, of his siblings, left. His concentration was on Ilena and her tale. He would have never guessed such a thing could happen. She had told them the story of Sylas, but he hadn't linked it to her. And now that he had, he felt burning hatred toward the man. How anyone could cause so much anger and despair….

Little did he know, back at the castle, anger and despair was raining down like a hurricane, trapping all of his family and friends inside.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, there you have it: Ilena's story. Happy Holidays 3 I hope you enjoyed it. Leave me a review as a present? ^^ Song is (c) Celtic Woman.


	19. The Hurricane Strikes

**CHAPTER 19 – The Hurricane Strikes**

"Lucy, what are you doing here? Go back to Susan or something."

Lucy just raised an eyebrow, daring him to force her out. She moved across the landing, scraping the chair against the granite floor until it rested before him. Seating herself, she handed him a goblet filled to the brim with sweet, piping hot tea. Grudgingly, he took it.

"I thought you could use some company," she told him, sipping her own drink. Her eyes flashed to the cell. Lily was staring at her, not in anger, but in interest. She had not seen the Valiant Queen since her first night trapped within the metal walls.

"It's not so bad," Edmund said, letting the warmth from the cup soak into his skin. "I'm used to being down here by myself." He followed Lucy's stare. "She's company in her own right."

"Does she still try to hurt herself?"

Edmund shook his head. "No, not anymore. She's more civil now. She can talk. Sort of."

"So you like her, then?"

His nod came slowly. "I guess so." Truthfully, he enjoyed his time in the dungeon. Each session seemed to bring something new. First her hunger, then her manners, then his name, and finally, her own. A miracle was happening before his eyes.

And he loved it.

"Susan feels terrible," Lucy said after a moment. "She really wishes she could come down and take a turn guarding, but Ava's kept her plenty busy. She's trying to help Maria and Caspian as much as she can." She laughed. "She keeps cursing Peter for disappearing all the time."

Edmund laughed as well. "Really, tell her I'm fine. I don't mind being down here at all. As for Peter, he's been through a lot in the last few days. He needs a break more than I do."

"Is that wisdom I'm hearing in your voice?" She grinned.

"Oh, shut it, you! I just think he deserves some rest, that's all."

"So do you," Lucy declared, as he took another swig. "When was the last time you slept?"

He squinted and started to count on his fingers. The action seemed to cause him tremendous effort. "Four or five days ago, I guess," he answered, surprised by the number. It seemed much shorter than that. Lily had kept him plenty busy with all her shrieking and hollering.

Lucy sighed. "I thought so. As soon as Peter returns, I'm forcing him down here. I'll ask Ilena to help me if I have to."

"Don't know if she'd be much help," Edmund chortled. "She's training him. Time here is time away from learning."

"But Peter likes her. He may not admit it, but he does." Edmund's knowing smile suggested that he agreed. "He'll do anything she says. He'll complain about it, but he'll do it."

At that moment, Lily decided to open her mouth and recite his name. "Ehumn," she stated, pointing a skinny finger at him. She gazed at him, then turned to Lucy, her finger following the direction of her eyes. "Who?"

Lucy let out a tiny gasp. Edmund had not relayed to her the entirety of Lily's progress, and so the words caught her by surprise. She glanced up at her older brother and he nodded, pleased by her reaction. Lucy cleared her throat and replied in a shaky voice, "Hello, my name is Lucy."

"Lucy," Lily chirped. She smiled and held her hand out.

Edmund prodded Lucy in the back and gestured toward the cell. Understanding, Lucy placed her goblet on the floor and stood up, walking toward the bars. She crouched down. Lily waited. A second passed, then Lucy took the girl's hand.

"Lucy." Lily shook her hand. With her free hand, she tapped her forehead. "Lily."

"Lily," Lucy nodded. "It is wonderful to meet you."

As this interaction took place, Edmund remained where he was, a wide grin plastered across his fair skin. Somehow, he had achieved the impossible: he had shocked Lucy. Lucy. The little girl who believed in the impossible. A sense of accomplishment filled him from head to toe.

Lucy broke contact with Lily and stood up. The Cantrical girl waved at her as she walked away. When she had resumed her spot across from Edmund, she let out a deep breath, wonder in her eyes. "How long?"

"Since she started speaking? Only a few days. I wish Caspian would come see. She's far more complex than I ever would have thought possible." He hesitated. "She's my friend."

Lucy let out a, "mmm." Picking her tea back up, she stirred it slowly, her thoughts soaring far beyond the confines of the dungeon.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm happy she's your friend. _Everyone_ needs a friend. Even her."

Edmund agreed. In the span of time he had spent with her, he had realized that one really couldn't judge others. Here Lily was, a complete traitor, murderer and savage in Caspian's eyes, trading pleasantries with his younger sister. He should hate her. She belonged to the Cantrical people, and therefore should be treated as such. The enemy. But he didn't hate her. He couldn't. He liked her too much.

"How's Maria doing?"

Lucy smiled. "Fairly well. Naturally, she's tired. But fine all the same." Then, she added, " She and Susan are getting along much better now. Actually, Susan seems a lot happier in general."

Edmund nodded, closing his eyes. He had forgotten how tiring talking to someone was. Lucy was, by no means, boring. But the conversation required a lot of attention. Attention he hadn't given in several days. Attention he didn't have.

"I'm not too surprised," he replied, trying to focus.

"Surprised?"

"That's she's happy. Susan always comes around sooner or later. It might take awhile, but it happens."

Lucy nodded. They both fell silent at this point, caught up in their thoughts. In fact the only sound came from the cell, where Lily was gazing at them, breathing hard. Her cruel, blue eyes followed the contour of Edmund's face, as though she was trying to commit it to memory. A spark had grown inside her, evident by the way she held herself. Her body sat tall and proud now, not beaten down and broken. Even her head was held high, and she moved like she a purpose for existing.

It made Edmund's heart glow.

Until she bolted upward and slammed into the bars. She hadn't beaten herself since the first night, and the _clang_ that rang loud and clear sent chills down both Pevensies' spines. She reached her hands through the poles, clawing at the air. She looked wild.

Scared.

Lucy jumped a mile in the air, her hand flying to her mouth. "What? What's going on?" she gasped, gripping her chair for support.

Edmund didn't answer. He was analyzing Lily's body movements, noticing the fear in her eyes. "Something is wrong," he said at last. Whatever could frighten a Cantrical, who, before now, seemed to possess no such emotion, was bad news for them all. Standing up, he cautioned, "Stay here," and strode toward the door.

He never made it. Just as he was turning the handle, the door flew off its hinges, knocking him to the floor. His body was trapped beneath the wood, and, on slamming into the granite, he cursed loudly, seeing stars. Behind him, he heard Lucy scream. A sound that made his blood curdle. Lily also let out a squeak, only hers was one of rage. Attempting to push the door off, he peered up, willing his vision to stop spinning.

An ambush. That's what it was. Four Cantricals – one man, two women, and a small boy – rushed in the door, loud, shrill cries expelling from their lips. They swarmed the cell, wreaking havoc with every step. One of the women stopped to glare down at him, before lifting her bare foot and slamming it down on his face. If he hadn't been seeing stars before he did now. There was a loud crack, and he knew his nose had been broken. Blood gushed down his face and pain engulfed him from head to toe. He couldn't breathe. The wind had been knocked out of him.

The man and boy rounded on Lucy. She tried to fight back. Even through the steam of red liquid pouring down his face, Edmund could see the flash of her dagger, seemingly appearing from nowhere. He had to give her credit. Her lip quivered, and her eyes were the size of dinner plates, but she didn't back down. Had it been him, the sight of a man twice his height and weight would have had him running for the hills. The Cantrical barked something in a harsh tone and the boy, no older than twelve, tackled Lucy to the ground. She shrieked in terror, and fell from Edmund's line of sight.

Meanwhile, the second Cantrical woman had run to the cell. Lily's hand still groped the air. The woman surveyed her for a split second, as though she recognized her, but then she moved forward and that idea went out the window. With a snap, she grasped Lily's arm in her own and twisted it around. A pop and Lily let out a rush of air, her legs giving out beneath her. Edmund suspected she had a dislocated shoulder.

The door was heavy. Edmund desperately tried to pry it off of himself, but his throbbing face and bruised muscles made it difficult to get any leverage. The woman merely sneered down at him, her mouth filled with gaping holes where her teeth were supposed to be. Growling, Edmund called on all of his strength. With a roar, he flung the door off his torso and flew forward, tugging his sword from its sheath.

The woman bounded backward. Her eyes, distant and cruel, stared him down, not once looking at his weapon. Almost as if she didn't care he had it. She'd win no matter what. They danced around each other. Then, before she could react, Edmund slashed his blade forward, catching her in the hip. She howled in agony and hit the floor, blood coating her thin clothing.

Edmund's happiness was short-lived. No sooner had he pulled his sword free, when something slammed into his already-purple face. He crashed into the wall head-on. Colors swirled, images blurred. Dazed, he hardly noticed when a hand clamped down on the collar of his shirt and lifted him into the air. In the background, he could hear screaming. But his thoughts were so jumbled, he didn't have the energy to process what was happening to Lucy.

_Bam!_ His body hit the wall again. Any light he had been seeing dimmed, and his vision was plunged into darkness. At the last second, right before he slumped unconscious, he heard Lucy shriek in pain, and Lily wail.

Then everything went black.

"Shhh, Ava," Maria cooed, hugging the crying baby to her chest. She had been sobbing relentlessly for fifteen minutes, and Maria could only wonder why.

"Perhaps she is hungry?" Caspian offered, watching his wife with admiration. The woman could stop a war if she wanted to. Her patience was unmatched in any person he had ever met. Except Aslan, of course.

"She was fed but half an hour ago," Maria replied, shaking her head.

"Then perhaps a change of clothes?"

"She was changed after she was fed."

"Honestly!" Susan interjected, beside herself with laughter. Caspian, as loving and careful with his daughter as he was, still fell into the same state of most men. He had no idea how to care for children. She supposed growing up without any siblings was the cause of his confusion. "Sometimes, babies just cry. Even if they have no reason to."

Caspian look dumb-founded. He looked from Susan to Ava, and back again, then sighed and nodded. "If you say so."

Susan just smiled and looked away. Men.

"Shhh," Maria rocked her tiny bundle, humming softly. It was an old Narnian lullaby that her mother used to sing to her as a child. She seated herself in the armchair, resting against the back.

Susan watched her, feeling happiness warm her very bones. Narnia, for once, felt right to her. Like she had a reason to be here. To help. She knew, gazing at the small child, that she had been a part of bringing her into the world. She had stepped in when needed. And she felt joyful for it.

Suddenly, Caspian stood up, his brow furrowing. His head turned in the direction of the door leading into their bedchamber, ajar. "Do you hear that?" he asked.

"What is it?" Maria said.

Caspian didn't answer. He moved toward the door, and, save for Ava's crying, there was silence. And then, they could hear it. A shrill noise, quiet, but piercing.

"What is it?" Maria said again, her lips parting in confusion.

"I do not know," Caspian replied. He shifted his weight so that he was resting on the balls of his feet.

The door, out of the blue, shot open. Before Susan could see what was happening, Caspian had seized her around the waist and thrown her toward Maria. He then took a fighter's stance between them and the oncoming attack. Three people filed in. Two men, both with bright red hair shuffled inside, quickly followed by a third man, dressed in black.

Sylas.

"Ahhh," he said, inhaling. For a moment, he closed his eyes. He brought his hands up from his sides. "Fear. Aggression. The best medicine for a wounded spirit." Laughing cruelly, he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Maria's face. "I shall indeed thank you for your terror."

"Get out!" Caspian growled, his sword out in the open.

Sylas chuckled once more. Both he and Caspian knew that the weapon would do no good. If a battle commenced, Sylas would emerge as the victor. "No, I don't think I will, little king." His pupils expanded. Caspian cried out and collapsed to the floor. His sword followed suit. His face had gone very pale, and beads of sweat were breaking out along his forehead. He had never been on the receiving end of Sylas's powers before.

"Now, then," Sylas said, stepping forward. The other two men acted as body guards, lingering behind him as he approached Maria, Susan and the still crying Ava. He stepped over Caspian, whose body was curled up in a fetal-position.

Susan had to do something. Maria's face matched that of her husband's, white and clammy. She alone knew how to handle a sword (Peter had taught her, just in case). Realizing this, she leapt forward and grabbed Caspian's fallen blade, roughly holding it up. She positioned herself between Sylas and Maria. She felt dreadfully confused. She had heard of Sylas from her siblings, but never had the pleasure of meeting him.

Now, she could see why Ilena hated him so.

With each step, he seemed to breathe, create darkness. She could (though she didn't know where it came from) feel his influence slowly worming itself into her mind. Calling upon her courage, she attempted to steady her shaking arm.

"Susan!" Sylas exclaimed, his face beaming. "How wonderful to make your acquaintance, my dear. You possess quite the doubt. I extend my sincerest thanks."

Having no idea what he was talking about, she cleared her throat. "You seem to know my name, but I do not know yours."

Lies, but he bought it. Either that, or he simply wanted the honor of introducing himself.

"Forgive me, I am Sylas." His hand grasped the tip of her sword. Her arm gave a little spasm. "Lord of Thought, Emotion, Mind and soon King of all Narnia."

He dwarfed her by a good foot, and had to lean down so that they were eye-to-eye. His breath reeked of death and decay. Susan almost gagged at the scent. He grinned, and despite her discomfort, she could see how good-looking he was. They remained that way for a solid minute, and then he made his move. Like with Caspian, he forced his pupils to grow.

Doubt filled her head. Her heart. Her very soul. She shuddered, dropping the sword in a dead-imitation of Caspian. Sylas reached out and brushed his hand along her jaw and her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh yes, Susan," he purred. "Give in." He took both of her arms and slyly moved her to the side, allowing him a clear path to Maria and Ava. "Over here, if you please, my darling," he told her. She did not fight it. She couldn't.

Maria gave a little squeak. Clutching Ava to her chest, she moved so that she was balancing precariously over the edge of the armrest, trying to distance herself from the man that had weakened not only her husband but Susan as well without so much as a glare.

"Not so fast!" Sylas cautioned her. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to that beautiful baby girl of yours, would we?" Like with Susan, he laid his hands down on her arms. "Give her to me."

It was an order. One Maria found impossible to resist. She was so out of her mind with horror, the edges of her sight were beginning to blur. She held up the screaming bundle without a word. In an instant, Sylas had grabbed Ava and thrust Maria back. She flew over the armrest and hit the floor.

"Almost too easy," Sylas said, his tone sad. He turned around and walked toward the door, calling out behind him, "Thank you for your hospitality!"

The moment he was out of sight, all three snapped out of their hallucinations. Maria didn't move from where she was rolled up on the floor. Her arms were hugging her legs to her body, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Susan, on the other hand, blinked once and gazed around. Seeing that the mad man was gone, she exhaled roughly. Before she could stop herself, she was picking Caspian's sword back up and bounding out the door after Sylas. Caspian got up just in time to see her heel round the doorway. He sprang up, and gazed back at his fallen wife. Seeing the state she was in, he quickly crawled to her side and pulled her into his arms.

"Where?" he demanded in a low whisper. "Where is she?" Ava had disappeared.

"H-he took h-her," Maria blubbered through her tears.

All the blood drained from Caspian's face. Sylas's control had rendered him completely useless. He hadn't heard or seen anything that had transpired. And, to be honest, he didn't much care. His daughter was in trouble. That's all that mattered.

"F-find h-her, Caspian," Maria whispered. "Bring her b-b-back."

"I will." Swinging her up in his arms, he placed her in the bed and kissed her on the forehead before trampling out of the room. His sword was gone (most likely Susan had taken it) but he'd fight tooth and nail to save Ava.

Ahead of him, her footsteps thundering against the floor, Susan scrambled. She had no plan for when she caught up to Sylas. No way of protecting herself. But her instinct and need to protect that innocent little girl proved too strong. She didn't care if she died. So long as Ava was not harmed.

Sylas and the others were strolling, almost merrily, down the hallway. They were in no hurry. They had no reason to. Ava's voice echoed down the corridors, a terrible sound that Susan felt sure would give her nightmares if she survived whatever was about to take place. Together, Sylas and his guards strode right out the main doors of the castle and out onto the grounds. Three other Cantricals were already there, waiting for him. Susan burst through the doors after him, and gasped.

Edmund lie limp in one of the man's arms, his face and neck covered in blood. Susan couldn't tell if he was breathing. Beside him, Lucy, looking terrified, had a knife held to her small throat. She let out a sharp cry when she saw Susan, and the woman carrying the dagger pricked her, drawing crimson. A small Cantrical boy also stood beside them, but he had no prisoners to speak of. Instead, he just stared at her with a sinister look.

Caspian broke through the doors as well and skidded to a halt beside her. He took one look at the situation, then sped on his feet again, his path headed straight for Sylas.

Sylas turned to face them, and rolled his eyes.

Caspian went down for the second time in less than five minutes. Susan hurried to his side, clutching him as he rolled around in the dirt, his hands clamped over his face as scream after scream ripped through his body.

"No, don't hurt him!" Susan said, breathlessly. Her eyes found Sylas's and she threw him a panicked look. He seemed to straighten.

"Oh, Susan, you are such a blessing. Your emotions…they are the reason I'm still alive." Sylas let out a small exhale, and Caspian fell still. Susan tugged him toward her, cradling him to her. He still was gasping in pain.

"Please, let her go," Susan said, looking at Ava.

"And make this whole day worthless? I think not. My dear, Susan, if you want precious Ava back, you will deliver a message." Without waiting for her consent he went on: "Tell Ilena to meet me here, in this exact spot, tomorrow night. I could care less if she comes alone. Just let her know that if she doesn't show, this child's blood will be on her hands." His body, along with the five Cantricals, Lucy, Edmund, and Ava's, slowly started to turn transparent. Right before he had vanished completely, he said, "Oh, and one more thing. Tell her Jarea has fallen."

And then the group was gone.

Caspian gasped, breaking free of Susan's grasp. He fell forward, his hand aloft as he tried to grab a hold of something, anything that would keep Sylas from disappearing. No. NO. This could not be happening. Not his daughter.

"Susan, Susan!" he cried, tears spewing from his eyes as he came to realize that Ava was truly gone. "No! No, not Ava!"

Susan didn't say anything. Her body had gone into shock. Ava, Lucy, Edmund. They had been taken. Stolen. Kidnapped. Right under their very noses. And they had been powerless to stop it. Dropping to her knees, she felt the world rock. No tears came. Her mind seemed beyond that. The sword in her hands was lost in the grass as she once again pulled Caspian close and tried to comfort him.

And that's how they were found hours later by Ilena and Peter.


	20. Finding the Weakness

**CHAPTER 20 – Finding the Weakness**

Something had changed. Some respect, some trust, some _faith_ had come about. In the expanse of one short day, all of the previous rules they had been playing by had gone out the window. In their place, an opening had been made; one that Ilena let him into wordlessly.

Peter shifted, pulling his legs so that he was sitting Indian style. Across from him, Ilena played with a dandelion, twiddling it between her fingers. Her mouth had become a blurred movement, though the words she spouted off never lost their meaning. Rather, Peter was listening so intently he no longer was focused on his surroundings. His imagination soared far beyond their patch of solitude, creating fantastic images that Ilena kept relaying to him. Stories of her history – ones that had never been told – were pouring out of her lips, all the result of some gentle prodding on Peter's part.

"Fantastic," he murmured, when she stopped to take a breath. She had been speaking for two hours straight and not once had he interrupted except to clarify certain points. She didn't seem bothered by his questions. Without hesitation, she answered each to the best of her abilities, at ease with the whole thing.

Blowing on the dandelion, she sent flurries flying in every direction. Her eyes flickered, watching them go, before moving to his face. "I'm glad you think so," she said, plucking another weed on her right. She had just finished telling him about Narnia's creation. Floored, he had gobbled up her knowledge like a starving man.

He watched her breathe on the second dandelion. It exploded like the first, soaring over the landscape. Feeling that she was tired of narrating, he instead said, "You do realize those aren't flowers, right?"

She shot him a smirk. "No, not at all. Why in Narnia would Mother Nature know the difference between a weed and a flower? Guess I missed that lesson…"

"Ha ha." He shook his head. "No, what I meant is, that's a weed. So why are you blowing on it? That just creates more weeds, more problems."

Ilena stayed silent, then replied, "Who are we to say if weeds are problems? Think about it. They perform no other function than that of a rose, or daisy. You look at them, pick them, admire them, and then they die. What value is there in a flower?"

"Well, they look nice at least."

Ilena offered a small smile. "That they do. But weeds are just as beautiful. It's all about perspective. Perhaps if you looked at it hard enough and forgot what everyone else told you about dandelions, you'd see something pretty in them as well."

Peter thought about it for a few minutes then went on. "I suppose. But there's still the question of what function do they perform."

Sitting up, Ilena said, "They perform the function of looking beyond what you see. This," she picked up another dandelion, "may not, on the outside, look like much. But watch." She held it up to his mouth and instructed him to blow on it. He merely stared at her, then did as she asked. It puffed out, coating them in white pieces. "Sometimes we can't judge by what we see. These provide endless amusement. You can't honestly tell me that as a child you never played with them."

"I did."

"And you enjoyed it. Some things, Peter, are meant to be felt. Not seen, heard, or physically touched. Some things are just good for the soul."

It went against everything he had ever been taught, both in school back in Finchley, and during his reign as High King before returning home. Everything, others told him repeatedly, had a purpose. If it wasn't serving the greater good, it was either folly, or useless. In less than five minutes, Ilena had corrupted the very foundation of his character.

Ilena didn't say anything. She allowed him the time to digest her words. Above them, the sky blazed, as the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon. She had lost track of the hours, and now felt her lips pucker in annoyance.

"We should go," she told Peter. Swatting her hands together, she rid herself of the dirt caked against her palms and got to her feet. Peter copied the motion, his thoughts still on their conversation. Glancing at him, she sighed and held her hands out. "Peter," she said, jarring him back to the present, "don't think about it too hard."

How could he not? For some reason, he had the feeling that her life lesson contained a double meaning; one that extended far beyond plants.

"Sorry," he said, placing his hands in hers. She felt much warmer now; obviously the gravity of her earlier tale had worn off. The clamminess had gone, and her skin was smooth and dark once more.

"Ready?" He gave his consent, and then they faded.

Right into hell.

The moment their feet touched the castle floor, he knew something was wrong. The hallway they stood in provided no light, the candles all having been blown out. Darkness swallowed them up, leaving them little comfort apart from their touch. Faintly, a burning smell oozed around them. The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood straight on end.

Ilena let go and inhaled. Her body became a statue, completely rigid. Peter felt the tension in her shoulders mount.

"What?" he asked her, dreading the answer.

"Aya!" she cursed, without warning bounding on her feet, away from him. Her eyes disappeared in the inky blackness, leaving Peter stranded in the middle of the desolate corridor. Her footsteps were light against the floor and he found himself loping after her, afraid she'd get out of range before he could catch up.

With each step he took, the charcoaled smell grew stronger. His eyes watered, stinging. Crackling shook the air, steadily becoming louder. Ilena continued to scramble down the dark hallways, only her ballerina slippers visible. She was leading them to whatever she had sensed. Something Peter felt sure would be bad.

He turned a corner and smacked square against her, the result of a forgotten warning that she was stopping. She grabbed his arm, steadying them both. Wordlessly, she pointed at the carnage in front of them.

Fire. Wild, untamed, free. It licked the walls, steadily covering every square inch in raging columns of orange. Peter could feel the heat pouring into the air, the smoke that forced its way down into his lungs. Ilena sprang into action.

Curling her arms out in front of her, she quelled the flames, easing them down little by little. They receded, almost evaporating. The heat dimmed, and with one final push of her hands, Ilena quieted the inferno, until only the blackened, worn blocks of the wall remained. A hole had fought its way through one of the inner chambers, exposing a portion of a maid's room.

Ilena looked up at Peter. Her eyes were wide. As wild as the fire. He parted his lips, unable to comprehend what had happened. Where had the fire come from? And what…what of his siblings? Were they still within the castle?

"Lucy." It was no secret that his little sister was also his favorite. Above everything else, he worried for her safety and well-being. Now, he felt his insides shrink uncomfortably.

"Ava," Ilena replied. What if the tiny baby had inhaled any of the smoke? Noting the worry in Peter's eyes, Ilena straightened. "I'll find Caspian, Maria and Ava. You find Lucy. I can't sense any other fires, but one could appear at any time. Be careful. If you see anything, let me know."

Getting the feeling that she was hiding something from him, he asked, "What type of thing?" She just looked at him. "Sylas." The blood from his face drained.

She nodded, slowly.

"Is he still in the castle?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't feel anything. Still, be on your guard. If anything happens, just say my name. I'll appear."

Well, that didn't sound good. Forcing himself to pay attention, and not let his thoughts wander at such a time, he reminded her, "Edmund. Susan."

"Susan will be with Maria," said Ilena. "I'll check on her. As for Edmund…he was on guard duty, right? Maria and Caspian's bedroom is on the way to the dungeon. I'll find him." Without another word, she began speeding forward, through the charred remains of the hallway, toward the far end of the castle where the bedrooms and passageway to the dungeons were located.

Peter watched her go, and called out, "_You_ be careful." But she didn't turn or give any indication that she had heard, so he didn't know if his warning had reached her. As her swinging ponytail disappeared from sight, he felt a weight settle in his chest. Which, of course, was stupid. She could take care of herself. The only thing that mattered now was Lucy and the rest of his family, both biological and extended. He was going to murder Sylas if he had so much as breathed on them…

Turning the opposite way, he started for the doors leading out into the courtyard. The large dining hall followed the same route, so he could check to see if anyone was still inside. More than anything he hoped that Lucy and the others had been lucky and fled. But that was a slim chance, and he didn't hold a lot of faith in it.

As he had predicted, the dining hall was empty. Overturned chairs littered the space, and the glass windows lay in shards on the debris-ridden floor. The place had been ransacked, looking more like a battlefield than a place of warmth and food. Gingerly, he stepped over a large plank of wood, visibly ripped from the shelves on the north side. He lingered for only a moment, taking the view in, then slipped back out into the dark hallways.

The path to the double doors looked about the same. No matter where he turned, destruction met him. He felt his panic spike unexpectedly as he reached for the handle leading outside, afraid at what he might find. However, the knowledge that he'd have to walk out sooner or later gave him the push he needed. His arms trembling slightly, he tugged the doors open.

His jaw dropped. Susan and Caspian were huddled, almost looking as though they were unconscious, before him. Without thinking, he ran up to them, feeling relief course through him when their heads snapped up.

Susan gave a great shuddering gasp, causing Caspian, who was cuddled in her arms, not in a loving way, but in reassurance, to shake. Tears streamed down both of their faces and Caspian wore a look of total desperation.

Peter fell to the ground before them, taking Susan's shoulders in his hands. He was breathing hard. Even through his dread, he noticed that Maria and Ava were nowhere to be seen. Neither were Lucy or Edmund. His head spinning, he gasped, "What happened?"

"Sylas," Susan replied through her sobs. "He took them. Lucy, Edmund and Ava."

Lucy. Edmund. Ava. Peter put his hand out to steady himself, swaying dangerously. It was much worse than he had expected. Sure, he thought Sylas might have injured them; but he also knew that if such was the case, even on their deathbed, Ilena could heal them. This, however. This was much worse. Kidnapping.

"Where?" Peter demanded. Susan flinched at the harshness of his tone.

"I don't know," she said, dismayed. "He just disappeared into thin air."

"He faded?" The revelation hit him like a ton of bricks. "But that's impossible!"

"Edmund was injured," Susan continued. "I don't know how. But he was covered in blood."

"And Lucy?" Peter's face paled.

"I didn't see anything."

Though he felt relief at this, Peter knew it wouldn't last long. If Sylas felt comfortable and confident enough to attack the castle and kidnap three children, he'd be perfectly fine in hurting, and perhaps even killing them.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, quickly looking them both over. Susan appeared to be badly shaken, but nothing more. Caspian, on the other hand, looked very white, his eyes blood-shot and puffy. Peter felt a pang of guilt and anxiety wash over him. Caspian's daughter was but a few days old, and already she had been taken away from him.

"No," Susan said, now regaining some of her self-control. Her eyes moved to the castle. "But Maria might be. Sylas flung her off a chair."

"Ilena is looking for her now," Peter assured her. "If she's hurt, Ilena will heal her."

"Ilena." Caspian's eyes flashed. "She is here?" His voice had gone very heavy and cold.

Peter stiffened, not at all liking the malice behind his words. "Yes, she is inside, looking for everyone." Not that there was anyone to find, really.

Caspian pushed himself from Susan's hold. The strict alignment of his back told Peter that he was under tremendous stress and worry, as he should have been. But there was something else as well. A sort of electricity that emitted from his body language.

"What happened?" Peter directed at Susan, slightly apprehensive about asking Caspian.

"He just appeared out of nowhere. Caspian, Maria, and I were in the bedroom, taking care of Ava, when he burst through the doors. He struck Caspian somehow. His whole body was shaking. Then he came at me. I-" She faltered. Sylas had specifically told her that she was the cause of his power, the thing keeping him alive. Not exactly something she wished to share with her brother and the crazed man beside her. "I felt angry, Peter," she said at last. "So angry. And I don't know why. I tried to protect Maria and Ava, but he pushed me aside, like it was nothing. And then he took Ava from Maria without even trying. I don't know what he did, but she just handed her over." At this, Caspian hissed. "Then he pushed her off the chair, and walked out. I came to and ran after him. Caspian followed. When we got out here, he had Edmund and Lucy as well. He told us to give a message to Ilena, and then he was gone."

"And what exactly did he say?"

Three pairs of eyes snapped to the front of the castle, where Ilena stood, the Cantrical girl by her side. Her body was as rigid as when she and Peter had split up. Her face had gone impassive again, hiding her emotions. Everything that had transpired during their talks this afternoon was now gone. Behind her, the Cantrical girl wobbled on quivering feet, her arm at a weird angle. Ilena had a firm grip around her good arm, keeping a lock on her in case she decided to flee. Lily watched them all through wide eyes, her eyebrows slanting down when Caspian hissed again.

Susan, momentarily stunned, said, "He demanded that you meet him here tomorrow night. He doesn't care if you bring anyone with you. If you don't come he is-" she glanced at Caspian worriedly "- going to….hurt…Ava."

Ilena let out a deep breath, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "Ah. Anything else?" Her eyes blazed.

"He also said that…oh, what was it? Jarea had fallen? I think." Truthfully, Susan had been steadily losing her mind during his demands, and the last sentence came across as blurred in her memory.

Ilena's legs buckled, and she let out a short breath. Whatever that last piece of information had meant, it wasn't good.

"Where were you?" Caspian suddenly demanded, getting to his feet. Ilena's shoulders fluttered down, and she closed her eyes, though from pain, sadness, or frustration Peter didn't know. She remained quiet, prompting Caspian to go on. "My daughter and their brother and sister were kidnapped today, my wife was hurt and you were not here to help."

Peter felt his chest burn. He could see where this was going, and it made him uneasy. Caspian usually showed a fair amount of self-discipline. This time, however, the taking of the one person he loved most had sent him over the edge. So, he was blaming the one person he could: Ilena.

"I have healed Maria," she said in a quiet voice.

"As you should have! But what about the children? I thought Avellas were here to help," he growled. "How are you helping when you are off with Peter, ignoring the war?"

Ilena's chest fell, as she expelled air out of her nose. She didn't falter or shy away. She took Caspian's words without a fight. The only movements she made were pulling Lily closer, and, as always, her rotating eyes, which stared at Caspian lifelessly. It wasn't until Caspian finished that she opened her mouth to speak.

"I am sorry."

Caspian didn't do so much as blink. He glared at her, his temper beating against the last of the restraint he possessed. "That does not change anything," he said coldly.

No one spoke. The tension in the air kept their words at bay, until finally Ilena broke through it by ushering Lily forward. Looks of astonishment crossed each face, but, not wanting to argue or cause any more dissonance between them, they all wisely shut their mouths and waited for Ilena to explain.

"This," she said in a low voice, "is Lily. Yes, she has a name. You all know her as a Cantrical, nothing more. Well, she was down in the dungeon with Edmund, and can tell us what happened." Ignoring Caspian's outraged expression, she plopped the confused redhead down. "Lily, can you please tell us what happened?" The softness she used while addressing the girl caught them by surprise, especially after the strain she had had only moments before.

Lily seemed confused by all the attention, not to mention being outdoors. She kept gazing up at the sky, like she had never seen it before in her life. Her jaw was on the ground. It was only when Ilena brushed against her that Lily made to answer. "Fight," she said simply. "Ehmun." She then proceeded to point insistently at her hair.

"What does that mean?" Susan asked.

Ilena cleared her throat. "I can't say for sure, but from what I can guess, Edmund was ambushed in the cell by a Cantrical like her."

Lily nodded furiously. Her eyes were big and opened wide.

"How many?" Peter asked.

Lily's lips pursed. She brought her right hand up and fidgeted, obviously trying very hard to convey the number. It amazed all those around her (even Caspian) at her intelligence, which they had severely underestimated. Of course, it had not been without good reason. Finding it impossible to get the right equation, Lily decided to try something else. She waved at Susan, Caspian and Peter.

"Three," Ilena clarified.

Lily nodded again. The last vital piece needed to be explained, so she rocked on her rear and crawled up to Susan. The action made her wince, as her arm came in contact with the ground. Still, she didn't stop until she was sitting directly in front of the Gentle Queen. She reached out and touched Susan's nose, then her eyes, then her lips.

"Lucy," said Ilena after a moment.

Then they all understood that she was pointing out the similarities between the two sisters.

"What happened to her arm?" Peter asked, noticing Lily's stiff movements.

"I'm guessing she was hurt during the ambush."

"So heal her."

Ilena shook her head. "I can't."

"Can't?"

"She won't let me anywhere near her. Believe me, I've already tried." She held her hands up and the white glow covered her from wrist to fingernails. Lily backed up instantly. "You see? She won't let me anywhere near her like this."

"Why?"

"Again, guessing. I think…I mean, Sylas has magical powers as well. I might…remind her of him. She's regained enough of her human nature to be afraid of him and his influence. It's only natural for her to try to get away from someone who's like him."

"Wait…" Peter raised an eyebrow. "How…how did she become like this? So human?"

"Your brother," Ilena said. "His compassion toward her has slowly taken away Sylas's control. The more human she becomes, the less power he holds over her." She met Peter's gaze with a meaningful one of her own. "Your brother has found a way to get rid of Sylas's powers."

Peter's mind spiraled. A way of winning. A chance. Something they desperately needed. But that knowledge had come at a cost. One that they were all paying.

"Now what?" Susan said, already thinking ahead. Just because they knew of a way to defeat him, didn't mean they had won.

"Now, we wait until tomorrow night."

Peter pushed the sheets back, feeling the warm night air brush against him. He couldn't sleep. No matter how many times he closed his eyes, the deep rest he so desperately needed refused to come. Part of the reason was because of the heat. His room was stuffy, causing his breathing to be irregular and his sheets to act as a sauna. The other part was the day's events. Everything – the waking up to Ilena, the story she had told him, the returning to disaster, the extent of Lily's progress, and the overwhelming hatred he felt toward Sylas – it all kept his brain plenty filled, and bursting with pain, like he didn't have enough room to store it all.

Of course, he knew he wasn't the only one having trouble drifting off. He could only imagine how Caspian and Maria were faring.

Sliding off the bed, he didn't bother to change out of his pajamas. It was late. The servants were all cowering in their chambers, afraid of another attack. Surprisingly, they had all survived the Cantricals and Sylas without serious injury. They wouldn't be bothering him on this night.

A walk. That's what he needed. A chance to stretch his legs and let his mind wander freely. He crept out of his room, his sleepy eyes marring the already-dark corridor. He made it about ten feet before he heard it.

Singing. A sad lament that sent chills down his spine. Something only Ilena would be able to produce.

He followed the sound, not knowing why he wanted to see her. Maybe to comfort her (for she was obviously in pain). Or perhaps to talk to her about Caspian's reaction to her earlier. He didn't know. He simply went with what his gut was telling him, and that was to find her.

It wasn't hard. Ten minutes later, he came upon an open window. Sticking his head out, he gazed upward, where the notes were coming from. It must have been an astronomy tower, because there was a row of bricks sticking out further from the rest, acting as a ladder. Gripping tightly (after all, he was several hundred feet above the ground) he pulled himself through the window and up the side of the castle.

Ilena didn't seem surprised to see him as he crawled onto the roof next to her. Rather, she allowed him to sit down on her right, much closer than she normally would have. She continued singing, and even though Peter had no idea what she was saying, he knew it was in mourning.

When she had finished, he asked, "Who?"

She sighed, and gazed up at him. Her eyes, crystal clear, shimmered in the light of the stars overhead. Either that or she was crying, which he, even though he knew she was sad, felt certain she wouldn't do. She didn't strike him as a crying type, like Susan. "Jarea," she said. "You don't know of her. She…she was an Avella. And now Sylas has killed her. A member of his own clan."

"What was she Avella of?"

"Forgiveness. She instilled the emotion in every living being. Without her… Well, Sylas chose her specifically to kill. I'll bet you can guess why."

"I'm sorry." The words didn't seem nearly significant enough to make up for her loss. Though he knew nothing of this Jarea, he sympathized with her. She had lost a family member, someone close to her.

"Thank you," she said, surprising him. Her whole body was slumped over, the closest thing to vulnerability he had ever seen. At least, until she did something completely unexpected. Without a word, she leaned over and rested her head against Peter's shoulder.

He didn't fight it. In a single instant, he understood that she would never tell him of her suffering. Of her pain. She was much too proud for that, and she didn't easily convey emotions. Sylas had taught her not to. But the action of placing herself in close proximity with him, of allowing him physical contact…well, that spoke volumes. She was asking for so many things. For support. For reassurance. For forgiveness.

And Peter gave it to her. Together, they sat there, gazing out over the realm of Narnia, with only the stars to watch over them. Peter's heart beat wildly in his chest, but he didn't question it. Because for once, he wanted that reassurance too. He wanted to feel that she was there, going through the same thing he was. It was more than just friendship. It was true trust. Something they both needed.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Peter knew she hadn't fallen asleep, but that she was simply letting herself be lost in the moment.

After a few seconds, he joined her.


	21. Why We Fall

**CHAPTER 21 – Why We Fall**

When Peter woke, the first rays of morning were washing over the landscape, bathing the world in light. He felt disoriented, his surroundings not at all familiar. Blinking to clear his vision, he raised his head ever so slightly. Chocolate-brown hair met him, smelling of something sweet. A gentle pulse reverberated inside of him. Without thinking, he smiled.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Ilena's voice came. She turned her body to face him, pulling her hair and the sweet smell away.

It was then that Peter realized how close they were. Sometime during the night they had switched places so that his head rested against her shoulder, his body limp and compressed. Flushing brightly, he maneuvered himself off of her and into a true sitting position, avoiding her gaze. She didn't say anything, but her eyes watched him carefully.

"What time is it?" he croaked, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through his body. Already he missed the rhythmic beating of her heart.

"Seven," Ilena answered, not seeming to notice his discomfort. Her hands arched around the back of her head and found the tie holding her hair in place. Wisps had exploded from the band, and she quickly combed her hands through the strands to smooth them out.

"You let me sleep in again." It wasn't a question.

"You needed the rest." At last, Ilena found his eyes. She was smirking. "You snore, by the way."

"Pardon?"

"You snore. Loud. I thought you might wake the whole castle."

"I do not!" Peter retorted, his face going red for a second time. Of course, he'd always been teased by Edmund for snoring, so her words were nothing new. But…but if he had snored…what else had he done? He'd always been a restless sleeper.

As if reading his thoughts, Ilena said, "You also talk in your sleep. It's quite funny."

"And what did I say?" he demanded.

"You're worried about Lucy."

He closed his eyes. Of course. That wasn't a surprise. He was always worried about Lucy. Especially now. Knowing he'd never win, he finally gave in. "Sorry. I do that when I'm feeling anxious and stressed. I didn't mean to keep you awake."

Ilena's eyebrows went up. Softly, she whispered, "You didn't keep me awake." The gentleness of her tone made him open his eyes. She sighed. "I never went to sleep in the first place."

"Because of my talking?" Now that he thought about it, Peter noticed the dark bags lining her eyes and tiny red zigzags across her eyeballs. She looked worn. Beaten. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's not your fault. Hardly. I haven't slept in over three weeks."

"Why?"

"Because I'm feeling anxious and stressed," she echoed him. Putting her face in her hands, she let out a deep breath. Peter could see her shoulders shudder before slowly deflating.

He debated with himself. For as long as he had known her, she had kept an invisible wall between them that clearly said: _Keep. Out._ She didn't want his sympathy. His pity. His apologies. She refused every ounce of companionship she was offered. And he knew why. She had been hurt in the past. Sylas had broken her down, betrayed her trust. Of course she felt ill at ease around others.

And yet… He felt she needed it. She needed some reassurance. Based on her stories, he realized she had been alone for a good portion of her life. For thousands of years she had lived in solitude, and hadn't quite forgiven everything that had happened. She hadn't re-learned how to open herself up. How to let another in.

Before he could and would allow himself to rethink his actions, Peter reached out and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Beneath his palm, he could feel the raw tension that knotted her muscles. Oh, yes. There was anxiety. There was stress. He could feel it in how tightly wired she was. It saddened him.

At his touch, she peeked through her hands. Instead of the defensive look he had been expecting, Peter felt surprise when a small smile appeared. Her hand reached over and took his, squeezing it in response.

So maybe she wasn't quite so cut-off as he thought.

"We're going to win this, you know," Peter said, his tone sincere. He refused to give up.

After a minute, Ilena nodded. "Yes, I know."

He made to let go of her hand, thinking it was making her uncomfortable – she could only handle so much at one time – but found she had his locked in a tight embrace. Wordlessly, he looked at her, his heart sputtering. Her fiery gaze wouldn't let him go.

"Peter?"

"Yes?"

Silence, then -

"Thank you."

Like his brother, Edmund woke to light pouring down over him, drowning him in an ethereal glow. Momentarily blinded, he attempted to cover his face with his hands only to find that he couldn't move. A heavy weight was pressed down on his body, making any sort of fidgeting impossible.

And then the pain started.

From the deep crevices of his mind a splitting headache roared to life, almost crippling his mental capabilities completely. Like a sledge-hammer beating relentlessly into his skull, the pounding booms made even thought sheer torture. There was only pain. Just pain.

He remained motionless for several minutes, focused solely on that which demanded his attention. It was only when he heard a distance noise that he came to his senses and became aware of his surroundings.

The light came from a window perched twenty feet above his head. He could only guess the hour of day, as there was no other indication of time. Though Narnia was currently in the heat of summer, cold radiated from the charcoal-colored blocks beneath him. He shivered and unsuccessfully lifted his arms to cover himself. His very limbs seemed to be made of lead.

The noise he had heard came a second time, now only a few feet away. Despite his predicament, Edmund's body tensed, waiting for an attack he felt sure would come. Seconds passed. Another noise.

"Edmund?"

"Lucy!" he blubbered, nearly passing out as throbbing dots filled his vision. His entire face and throat were swollen. Through his haze, he felt dried blood cracking along his upper lip.

"Oh, Edmund! Thank Aslan you are alright!" Arms enveloped him. He winced. "I was so worried!"

The sound came a third time. Edmund cringed in response as the high-pitched shriek struck his very core. He did his best to ignore the hollow feeling in his body. His inability to control anything.

"Whassat?" he asked, thinking perhaps someone near was being tortured. That Sylas would pay for everything he had done.

Lucy let loose a small, "Oh!" and the pressure around his middle vanished. The shrill cry bellowed, then softened until only Lucy's gentle words filled the air.

"It's ok. Don't cry. Shh, shhh…"

His curiosity getting the better of him, Edmund did something very smart, but so very, very stupid. Taxing the last of his energy, he sat up.

And fell right back out of shock and exhaustion.

In the brief moment he had been vertical, his eyes had caught sight of something that made every nerve in his body scream in protest and agony. Nestled in Lucy's arms, her tiny body constricted by a pale green blanket, was Ava. Her head was back, her eyes were wide, and her mouth was wobbling so badly, Edmund thought she might start crying again the instant she saw him.

He hit the floor hard. Sequences of thoughts flew through his head at lightning speed, each more terrible than the last. How had Ava gotten here? Where was here? Was she hurt? Was Lucy hurt? And how was he, Edmund, going to take care of them? Especially Ava. He could barely take care of Lucy, and she was only a few years younger than him. How long had he been out? How much time had passed since the battle in the dungeon? What of Susan? Caspian? Maria? Had Sylas gotten into the castle? Were Ilena and Peter alright? Was anyone still alive?

Edmund groaned, the overload of questions doing nothing to stifle his headache. Lucy continued to calm Ava in the background. Desperately, Edmund tried to make sense of it all. He was weak. And hurt. That much was obvious. Hope of escaping whatever mess they had been thrown into disappeared as one final question refused to fade away:

_How am I going to protect them?_

"Edmund?" Lucy's hand touched his arm, coming from somewhere beyond his line of vision. "Are you still awake?"

"Mmhmm," he grumbled, concerned at how weak her voice was. Ava had commanded his attention, so had hadn't been able to inspect his younger sister for bruises. No doubt those brutes who had attacked them hadn't been kind. His blood boiled.

"Do you want me to help you up?"

"Can you?" Edmund asked.

"Yes. One moment."

Balancing Ava in her right arm, Lucy used the other to grip the Just King under his neck and head and pull him up. His form limped over and she had to get him upright. By the end of it, she was breathing hard. Edmund wasn't exactly small for his age. She laid him back against the wall.

Of their cell. Imprisoned by long, steel bars, the enclosure measured six feet wide by six feet long. Edmund, Lucy, and Ava were crammed together like sardines, Edmund's new position affording them the space they so greatly needed. How Lucy had managed while he had been unconscious…

Across from the cell, like sentries guarding a precious treasure, two massive Cantrical men blocked the exit, clearly denying passage in or out. Their cold eyes followed the three prisoners closely. They didn't verbally speak out, but the hatred in their stares was enough for Edmund to get the gist of it. A chill ran down his spine.

Lucy looked, in a word, terrified. Now that he could see her, Edmund hissed at the large purple and yellow bruises that blotched her exposed skin. Her clothing hung off her in tatters, and a crimson stain painted her neck. Gaunt face, blood-shot eyes, pale complexion.

Edmund would make them all pay.

Still, for as haggard and mangled as she looked, Lucy's back was as rigid and tall as ever. Her arms wrapped possessively around the small princess, her eyes almost daring the men to do so much as look at Ava.

"Here, give her to me," Edmund said, pushing past the stabbing pains that shot through him. For all he knew, Lucy had been taking care of the child for days with no help whatsoever.

Lucy threw him an astonished look.

"No, really. Let me take her."

She hesitated, visibly questioning his sanity. Edmund wasn't one to voluntarily place himself within close proximity of children. Eventually, though, her need for rest won over and she gently placed Ava in her brother's arms. It was the first time Edmund had ever held a baby. He marveled at her size. So fragile. So breakable.

"Do you know where we are?" Lucy asked, breaking the tenderness of the moment.

Subconsciously, Edmund drew Ava closer, adjusting her so they were both more comfortable. He peered about the cell, shaking his head. "No, I do not." The place was more forlorn and grimy than any dungeon he had ever set foot in before.

"I wish Aslan would come."

Lucy looked on the verge of tears.

"He will," Edmund reassured her. "He will."

They fell silent at this, both caught up in their own mind.

_He has to._

"Please. For your safety." Caspian gripped his wife's shoulders, bending down to look her in the eyes. She pulled away. He held her firm. "Say here, Maria."

Maria's lower lip waggled slightly; tears began to pool at the creases of her eyelids. "No! I cannot! This is our child, Caspian. Our baby. How can you ask that of me? I have to be there."

"You are not strong enough," Peter chimed in. Disregarding Maria's glare, he went on, "You had a baby only three days ago. You need time to heal."

"I am fine!" Maria protested. Looking to Susan for support, she brushed the first tear off her cheek before Caspian could trap it. "Tell them I am fine!"

Unfortunately, Susan merely sighed. She could see both sides of the argument; her head was battling against her heart. Placing herself in Maria's position, she could see why the Queen refused to stay behind. Had it been Susan's child, she felt certain the she would be demanding to go as well. The link between mother and daughter was too strong to deny. However, Caspian and Peter had a point. This wasn't some outing in the park, or fun holiday. Their meeting with Sylas would be intense, emotional, and not helpful to an unstable, hormonal woman. In that regard, staying behind was a smart decision. Not just for Maria, but for all of them.

"Maria, I think…I think you should stay in the castle," Susan said slowly, carefully keeping her tone even. The last thing she needed was for Maria to think they were all ganging up on her. They'd never get anywhere with that.

"How can you say that?" demanded Maria. "This is unfair! I have just as much right to stand up for my daughter as all of you do!"

"We never said you didn't," Peter reminded her.

"Then let me join you!"

"No." It was Ilena that spoke, her voice unwavering and final. The Avella was seated away from the group, leaning against a chest in Caspian's room. The same metal bracers she had worn to Peter's training were attached to her arms, hinting at what was to come. She met their questioning gazes. "What we are about to do has never before been attempted. Think carefully. We are about to meet with one of the most powerful beings in all of Narnia to negotiate the return of your daughter. Such a feat holds many possibly dark outcomes. None of which any of us would like you to be a part of."

"But I need to be there." Maria was sobbing now, her tears dissolving into her dark ringlets that hung flaccid around her face. "I need to."

Caspian took her face in his hands and brushed her tears away. "Please," he begged. "Please."

"But-"

"I will stay with you, Maria."

"But – what?"

"I will stay with you." Susan walked to her and pulled her into a hug. "If you stay in the castle, so shall I. I refuse to let you be alone."

"Re-really?"

"Yes."

The two embraced tightly. Caspian and Peter exchanged looks. Ilena simply watched the whole thing with a blank face, her thoughts noticeably not on the present. She had more pressing matters to deal with. Namely, keeping them all alive.

Maria glanced at Caspian. "I shall stay…if Susan does. And only if."

Susan nodded, and Caspian breathed a deep sigh of relief that Peter copied. In all honesty he hadn't been too pleased with his sister coming in contact with Sylas again. He had lost enough siblings to last a lifetime. The knowledge that she and Maria would be safe did wonders for his nerves.

"Good. That's settled." Ilena clapped her hands together, standing up. Unlike Peter and Caspian, she still wore her day-to-day clothing, the metal bracers being the only source of protection she had. When asked, she had simply said that no amount of armor would keep her safe, and the ability to move with ease far outweighed her need for security.

"What is our strategy?" Peter asked. Ilena still hadn't revealed any plans for how they were going to deal with Sylas.

"I can have hundreds of men here within seconds," Caspian jumped in. "Men ready to give their lives to protect this land."

"No," Ilena said.

Caspian's eyebrows flew up. "But, Avella, think of the consequences without them. These men will provide us with multiple pairs of eyes. Valuable protection. Should things go wrong-"

"I will not allow them to die for us."

"Please, reconsider-"

"No," Ilena's voice rang, hard and unbending. She and Caspian stared one another down, both refusing to look away. They were still at odds, Caspian's words creating a wall between them. Ilena took a deep breath and explained, "No amount of soldiers will provide you with the cover you require. It would be a stupid move to send them in. No better than a suicide mission."

"What are you proposing, then?" Caspian demanded coldly.

She gestured to him, Peter, and herself. "The three of us go alone."

"But my daughter!" Caspian cried, appalled at the thought. "Now _that_ is a suicide mission."

"It is not. Think this through. Do you honestly believe that Sylas will just give up because of some misguided show of force? No. He's a magical being with powers beyond your wildest dreams. If anything, he'd turn our own troops against us. If, however, we go about this carefully, there is a slim chance we might actually be able to succeed in rescuing Ava, Edmund and Lucy."

"Madness!" Caspian's face had gone a nasty shade of red, and everyone but Ilena took a step back at his outburst. "You know what I think? You are sacrificing my daughter for your pride! You just want to reclaim your honor by defeating Sylas alone. You do not care about the children at all!"

Ilena straightened her hair crackling with electricity. "Don't you dare say I don't care about them. I care more than you will ever know. I am simply trying to come up with the best solution I can that will result in the least amount of casualties."

"Well, you are not doing a very good job."

"Caspian," Maria said, gripping her husband's arm. "Please, do not shout."

Peter suddenly felt very awkward, caught between the two. Ilena's back was so straight and tense it looked as though a stick had been jammed up her spine. Her attention snapped to him, then back to Caspian.

"You will stay here with Maria and Susan," she said to him.

He looked as though he had just been slapped. "I beg your pardon?" Caspian said, his mouth agape.

"If you cannot control your temper, I will not have you come with us. I don't care if Ava is your daughter. The rage you are demonstrating is exactly what Sylas feeds off of. He's searching for this very thing – this discord that is pulling us all apart. If you are in his presence he'll easily be able to manipulate you and turn you against us. This will be hard enough without your added emotions. Thus, I am ordering you to stay behind."

"You can do no such thing! I am king!"

Ilena's lips pursed. "And I am an Avella. For once, I am taking advantage of my status. I order you to stay behind."

Caspian looked to the rest of the group for support, but no one volunteered to stand up for him. Peter felt himself being pulled in two different directions. Was Ilena to follow, or Caspian?

Ilena swept toward the door, obviously done with the conversation. "When you've grown up," she told Caspian, lingering in the doorway, "then come see me. Until then, stay here." And she walked right out of the room.

Stunned, the remaining foursome stood there, glancing at one another warily. Ilena was many things, but never had they expected such forceful command. Realizing he was the one who could get through to her, Peter dashed after her, ignoring the alarmed faces that followed him. Ilena was already halfway down the adjacent hallway before he caught sight of her. He lengthened his strides.

"What was that?" he asked.

Ilena's face was slightly clammy. "I know I was unnecessarily harsh, but Peter, you need to understand something. Caspian is already under Sylas's control. He physically and mentally cannot forgive me. This was all planned. This is why Sylas murdered Jarea. To cause trouble. That is why we are fighting. Allowing Caspian to come with us would not be helpful, or smart."

"When did you realize this?"

"When he grew angry at me without even considering what I had to say. I've already probed his thoughts. He's gone, Peter. The only hope we have is that Edmund's discovery will prove true, and love and friendship will take away Sylas's power."

Peter ran his hand through his hair. This day was not going the way he had expected. In fact, everything was going so very, very wrong. Their group was in disharmony. Sylas had already made his mark. And the final battle hadn't even started.

"I understand."

"Do you?" Ilena questioned.

"Yes." Grasping that she didn't believe him, he assured her, "I do."

"Good. Because I'm going to need something from you."

"What?" She had never asked for his help before, so the idea intrigued him.

"Your faith, Peter. Your unwavering, solid faith."

She looked so sad, so frustrated, he extended the boundary even further and seized her, pulling her to his chest and into a hug. His early assessment had been wrong. It wasn't just her shoulder muscles that were tight. Her whole body was like a spring, locked and ready to fly. He placed his chin on her head, waiting for her to pull away. The sweet smell returned.

"You have it."


	22. The Hardest Thing

**CHAPTER 22 – The Hardest Thing**

The door swung open with a bang, ricocheting off the stone wall. Both Edmund and Lucy bolted back, Edmund's arms flying up to cover Ava. Ava, in return, let out a loud shriek. A dark shape emerged from the doorframe, the Cantricals moving aside to allow entrance, like Moses parting the Red Sea. Crystal blue orbs moved to the cell. A chuckle.

"Yes, cry, young one," Sylas encouraged, his charismatic voice stronger than the last time Edmund had seen him. "You are only making me stronger." He bent down, propping himself on his toes so that he was eye-level with his prisoners.

Instinctively, Edmund pulled the infant closer to him, at the same time positioning himself in front of Lucy. His older brother mode had clicked on, and he did his best to shield her. Up close, Sylas looked even more intimidating. Dressed entirely in black, Edmund could see why the creatures of Narnia would fear him. Heck, even Edmund was having a hard time looking him in the eye without cowering.

"Ah, little king," the madman said. "Trying to be a man? Trying to protect the innocent? Best wishes. I already know you will fail. Just like you've failed at everything else."

Sylas was trying to bait him, Edmund decided. Trying to get him to lose his temper. Well, Edmund wouldn't give in. _Deep breaths,_ he told himself. _Stay focused._

"At least he doesn't fear Aslan," Lucy challenged out of the blue. She flinched when Sylas turned his gaze on her, but did not look away. Edmund scooted to the right, blocking her face.

"You have much spirit for one so small," remarked Sylas, not appearing bothered in the least by her words. "But you are mistaken. I fear no one. Least of all, Aslan."

Swinging his arms behind his back, he stood up and paced the dungeon. The Cantricals watched him intently, as stiff as boulders. Sylas clapped his hands together. A pained expression crossed his face.

"You three have made this very difficult-"

"Difficult? You're the one who kidnapped us!"

Sylas silenced Lucy with a single look, then said, "Do not interrupt. It is rude. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. You three have made this very difficult for me. Back at your precious castle your friends and family are worried sick. They think I am going to kill you. Or worse" -Edmund didn't dare ask what could be worse, afraid at the answer he might get- "They'll do anything for your safe return. Anything. I'll demand to be king of Narnia, naturally. Of course, Ilena will surrender. But I'm not sure if I want to give all three of you back. Perhaps I should just return one of you, and keep the others as slaves. Or maybe I will kill you. Oh, decisions, decisions."

"Ilena will never surrender," Lucy said. "She'll keep fighting."

Edmund applied pressure to Lucy's bicep, warning her to shut her mouth. Did she realize what she was doing? Antagonizing Sylas would just make the situation worse. Especially if he was already contemplating murder.

Sylas laughed coldly. "You think you know her… Ilena has always been weak. Even in the beginning, her compassion for others was her downfall. She feared using her gifts in the slightest chance she might hurt someone. She is a joke. Do not expect her to come to your rescue."

"Tell me something," Edmund butted it, wanting to strip the focus off the Valiant Queen. "How did you fade into the castle? Your abilities, from what I have been told, are not strong when it comes to mental tasks."

"Yeah, like having a brain," Lucy muttered so low only Edmund could hear her.

Sylas smiled and shook his head, amused. "You underestimate much. Do not listen to that simpering wench of an Avella. Her impression of me does not do me justice." Slowly, his pupils contracted, then swelled so that they were dominating his eye.

Edmund groaned and nearly dropped Ava as fury thundered through him. Being on the receiving end of Sylas's power was a new experience; one he hoped he'd never have to endure again. After what seemed like a lifetime, the feeling drifted away. Edmund leaned against the wall behind him, breathing hard.

"Like I said, do not underestimate. With each person who falls to my influence, my power grows stronger. It was only a matter of time before I was strong enough to fade. Now there is nothing standing in my way of destroying Narnia. Even the Great Lion has deserted you."

"Never! Aslan would never do that!" Lucy exclaimed.

Chuckling, Sylas said, "Just because you believe it doesn't make it true. Faith holds little weight in this world."

"Why don't you just kill everyone, then?" Edmund wasn't trying to give Sylas any thoughts. He legitimately wanted to know. "Wouldn't it be easier than going through this elaborate set-up?"

"My poor child, haven't you been listening?" Sylas said, his eyes flashing. "What good would you all do dead? No, it is much more profitable for me if you are alive. Speaking of which," he snapped his fingers. Thirty seconds later, a Cantrical woman bustled through the dungeon doors carrying a flask of water, a bowl of cold soup and a loaf of, by the looks of it, stale bread. She set the contents down by the cell, then walked right back out of the room like she was in a trance.

"Eat up!" Sylas said, beaming. He had already started to move toward the door. "You must be able to at least stand when I bring you before your comrades. Make sure Ava gets plenty!" He waggled his finger at Edmund. "Don't go eating it all, you naughty boy!" And with that, he walked out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

"He's weird," observed Lucy, already grabbing the food.

Edmund nodded his agreement. In his arms, Ava was whimpering, her face screwed up and very red. As lovingly as he could, he started to rock her. He had seen Susan and his mother do it before on several occasions and it always proved successful. Eventually, Ava calmed. Still swaying his body, he cautioned Lucy, "Careful. I would not trust that. He might have poisoned it." He wouldn't put anything past that..that...Snake.

"But Ava needs to eat," Lucy said. "She hasn't had a meal since yesterday. Babies must be fed far more often than us. They need the nourishment to grow."

Edmund bit his tongue, looking between the meager helpings and the princess. Finally, he said, "Here, let me see it." Lucy handed him the bread first. Breaking it apart, he sniffed it, the smell of whole grains making his mouth water. Shaking his head, he broke it in half and surveyed the crust. Just as he had suspected, the bread looked to be several days old.

"So?" Lucy said.

"It could be laced with an invisible poison, which I have no way of detecting. From what I can see it looks fine, though, if not a little past its prime." He inspected the soup as well.

Lucy didn't need any more prodding than that. She snatched one of the halves from his hand and, before Edmund could stop her, took a large bite out of it.

"Lucy!"

But nothing happened. Either the poison was slow-working, or there was none in the first place, for Lucy sat perfectly still for a good five minutes, showing no signs of pain or weakness. "It tasted dry, but edible. I assume the soup is the same. Shall we give some to Ava now?" She moved her arms out to take the girl.

"Lucy, that could have killed you!" Edmund said. He didn't want to admit it, but placing Ava in her arms was a lot harder than he had been expecting. Only a few short moments after doing so, he wanted her back where he could protect her.

"But it didn't. And I'm going to feed her now." Grabbing the bowl, she took the spoon in it, and held it to the baby's mouth. Instead of swallowing it, the soup dribbled down her face, going everywhere but its intended place.

"I thought you knew everything about babies," Edmund remarked to a stunned Lucy. "Don't they only drink milk when they are young?"

Lucy scowled at him. "We don't have any milk. All we have is soup, bread and water."

"So give her the water. It's almost the same thing."

"But that won't give her any strength. She needs something solid."

"Lucy, just give her the water. It'll keep her alive. When we get back to the castle Maria will have something better ready for her, I'm sure."

Lucy looked as though she were going to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Sighing, she took the flask and carefully brought it up to the infant's mouth. As much as she prided herself on her knowledge of children, even she had to admit she had no idea what she was doing. Her hand shook slightly as she carefully poured a small amount of the liquid into Ava's mouth. Luckily, the child swallowed, only coughing once.

"Try not to pour so fast," Edmund advised her.

"Since when did you become such an expert?"

Edmund considered, massaging his right arm, which was growing tense from sitting in the same position for several hours. "Since I held her," he finally decided. It took only glimpse at Ava to spark his determination.

No matter what, he was going to save that delicate, small, beautiful baby girl.

Maria paced, passing Susan for the fifth time in less than twenty seconds. Her whole body was shaking, her face pale. Her hands had found the hem of her dress, and she pulled at it sub-consciously.

Unable to take anymore, Susan captured her fingers, forcing her to stop. The queen looked down at her with such heartache, Susan nearly burst into tears.

"Worrying won't help any," she said softly, coaxing the hysterical woman into the chair next to her. They were seated in the library, the only room in the whole castle that Susan felt certain would calm Maria's nerves.

"It gives me something to do," Maria admitted. "If I worry and pace, I have less time to imagine what is actually going on out there. I am sure it is far worse than even my most terrible nightmares."

"I am sure it is going well." Maria looked doubtful, so Susan continued. "We must have faith in Peter and Ilena. They will not let us down. They are both far too competitive and caring to do that."

"I wish I had your strength, Queen Susan."

"You already do," Susan told her. "You've stood by Caspian through this war, never giving up. If that is not strength, I do not know what is. Don't give up now when we are so close. You must have faith, Maria. Aslan will bring us through this."

"Again, I wish I could have your strength. I have never met Aslan, though I have heard stories. Is he really as wonderful as they say?"

"Even more so."

Maria stared wistfully into the distance. "Is that how you deal with this?"

"This?"

"This waiting. Your brothers have been in wars countless times. How do you deal with the waiting? It's unbearable."

Susan thought about it for a moment. How did she deal with it? She could easily remember every instance she had been in Maria's position. The queen was right. The waiting was always the worst part. Agonizing.

"I suppose," she said, at last, "I just remember that Aslan is watching over us. I will not lie – I am not the best at placing my faith in him. But each and every time he has brought my family through alive. And this time will be no different. Just believe. He'll do the rest."

"I'm frightened." Maria looked on the verge of tears. Susan comforted her by pulling her next to her.

"So am I. But we cannot let our emotions get the better of us. Believe, Maria. It'll all work out in the end."

Maria sighed and put her face in her hands.

"I'm trying, Susan. Really. I'm trying."

"That's all I ask."

"He's coming."

Peter lifted his head. Across from him, her arms crossed, Ilena stood facing the horizon. Even from where he was leaning against the main doors of the castle, he could feel the heat waves pouring off of her. He got to his feet and took his place by her side.

"Are Lucy, Edmund and Ava with him?" His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, itching to tug it free.

Ilena's brow creased. "Yes, I believe so. Their energy is more difficult to identify, but I think it is them." She curved her head toward him. "He's much stronger now. His aura is off the charts."

"Nothing we can't handle," Peter smiled meekly. "Are you ready for this?"

Ilena nodded. "It's what I was created for. If I'm not ready now, then I never will be." She tightened her ponytail.

Peter felt the need to hug her again, but dismissed the idea. Since his earlier action, she had distanced herself noticeably from him, avoiding his touch. Whenever he caught her shoulder, she'd shrug his arm off gently, almost inconspicuously, until his hand held nothing but air. He'd be lying to say it didn't bother him. He had thought after all that had happened she might learn to trust him a bit more. He'd thought wrong.

"Get ready," Ilena warned. Peter slid into a set stance, waiting.

A second passed, and then he appeared. Like a ghost he faded before them, smirking. His eyes flared down to Ilena, whose face had gone blank. Behind him, a Cantrical man stood, one hand hooked around Lucy's arm, and the other around Edmund's bicep, keeping them locked in place. Baby Ava was curled up in Edmund's free arm, sleeping, completely oblivious to the events taking place around her.

Peter's breath caught in the back of his throat. Both of his siblings looked like they had been through hell. Edmund's face was coated in dried blood, and his right eye shone purple, and swollen. He threw an anxious look his brother's way, cuddling Ava closer. Lucy, on the other hand, looked scared out of her mind. A red gash ran down her neck, and even from his position, Peter could see the beginning of many nasty bruises forming.

Anger welled up inside of him.

"Ilena!" Sylas said, beaming. That terrible smirk grew. "How wonderful to see you again, dear. I'm so happy you agreed to meet me." He bent forward, bowing.

Ilena didn't budge. She watched the man in front of her with an unreadable expression. "Sylas," she said, dryly. "I wish I could say the same, but given the chance, I'd rather not be in your presence. Sorry."

"Someday you will," he told her. "When I am king." Clapping his hands together, he turned to Peter and eyed the High King with a knowing look. He knew Peter would never go down without a fight. They stared at each other, blue eyes on blue eyes until finally Sylas looked away. "Now, down to business."

"Hand them over," Ilena ordered. "Now."

"That's not part of the agreement." At Peter's furious gaze, Sylas went on, "I believe I called this little meeting, not you. Therefore, I shall decide when to 'hand them over'."

"Then speak already." Ilena uncrossed her arms.

Sylas guffawed. "You've always had such a way with words." He then dropped his charm and coiled his hand beneath his jaw, observing them. "I suppose you can already guess what I want. It's not hard. So let's move beyond that, shall we? Apart from being named king, I also require that you-" he indicated Ilena "-surrender and join me as my queen."

Peter glowered. Something inside of him came alive.

"We know that one," Ilena replied coldly, as though it hadn't bothered her. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I want that little girl you've been hiding in your dungeon." He looked pleased by their surprised expressions. "Lily, was it? You will give her to me."

"What do you want with her?" Peter questioned suspiciously.

"I should think it would be obvious. But no matter. If you really don't know, High King, I want her so that I can kill her." His voice dropped into a deep growl. "She's been far more troublesome than I ever would have expected." To Ilena, he said, "Did you realize she was under my control the entire time?"

Ilena nodded.

Peter felt like he'd been whacked over the head with a hundred bricks. "What?" he said. "You knew? And you didn't tell me?" Did Ilena truly not trust him enough to let him know that Lily was acting as a spy for Sylas? The blow wounded his pride more than anything. "Why?"

Ilena ignored him. "Funny how your little plan was unsuccessful. I expected more from someone like you."

"Are you referring to him?" Sylas pointed at Edmund.

"Well he did find a way to rid you of your powers. So, yes, him." Ilena let a small smirk, identical to Sylas's, slip onto her face. With both of them trying to outdo the other, and the similarity of their stances, it was hard to not see the resemblance between them. In many ways, they were alike. Both tried to put on a face and hide what they felt. For Ilena, it was sadness, frustration and anxiety; for Sylas it was rage, frustration, and annoyance. It was difficult to decide who was trying harder.

"And yet, here he is, in my possession." Sylas slowly started to circle them, forcing his way between Ilena and Peter so that they were standing away from one another. "That is your failure, not mine. If you had protected him better…"

Suddenly, there came a strangled cry. Three pairs of eyes snapped toward the Cantrical, who was hopping up and down on one foot, Edmund swinging in his grasp. He held onto Ava for dear life. Lucy leapt from the Cantrical, and then they understood. She had slammed her foot down as hard as she could on his, momentarily crippling him. Lucy fell forward. Peter rushed to her.

"No, no, no," Sylas said, intervening. He collided with Peter, sending him sprawling across the ground. At the same time, he seized the smallest Pevensie and lifted her into the air. "That wasn't very nice," he chastised her, and Lucy squirmed against him. "You might have seriously injured him. Dreadful child." He threw her back toward the Cantrical, who looked ready to kill her on the spot.

"Lucy!" Peter and Edmund cried.

"Enough!" Ilena inserted herself between Sylas and Peter. "Enough. You lay another hand on her, and I will personally castrate you for life. You've made your demands, now it's our turn."

"Then by all means…"

Ilena reached down. Peter took her hand and she pulled him up. "We," she returned her attention to Sylas, "want your solemn vow that you will never, not once, harm Edmund, Lucy, Ava, Maria, Susan, Caspian, and Peter. After you become king, you must promise to let them be free, not keep them as your slaves. You cannot order others to harm them in any way, and you cannot take control of their minds. You must let them live out the remainder of their lives in peace."

"Agreed. Anything else?" Sylas echoed.

Peter was about to answer 'no' when Ilena cut in.

"You must use your power to send the Pevensies home as soon as you take the throne."

"What?" Peter said a second time. This hadn't been part of the plan. At least, not the plan she had shared with him. Their agreement had stretched to only demanding for their safety, not for forcing them back home. Ilena's eyes flickered to him. "When was this decided?"

Ilena didn't answer.

"Once again, agreed. I shall send them home and never harm another hair on their head again. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful! Now, let's shake on it." Sylas extended his hand out to Peter, grinning broadly. And why shouldn't he be? He had just secured not only Ilena as his bride, but Narnia as his kingdom. He had, in effect, just altered the course of history without even trying.

Ilena and Peter both stared down at his hand, Peter with a look of disdain and uncertainty, and Ilena with hooded eyes and a taut mouth.

"No, don't Peter!" Edmund roared. His outburst was cut short by a sharp bellow, as the man's grip became deadly tight.

Lucy also yelled, "Don't do it!"

But it was too late. Peter had reached his own hand out and brushed his palm against the demon's. A weird sensation spread through his body as Sylas crushed Peter's knuckles. A white light circled their hold, making their skin shine, then disappeared. Peter looked to Ilena for help.

Ilena said, "It means that his promise is bound by magic and cannot be broken."

"You're next, my sweet," Sylas called Ilena to him.

Ilena took a deep breath and moved to also take his hand. All the while, their eyes stayed hardened on each other. Ilena's eyes stopped, her irises going black. An eternity passed as she lowered her hand into his and squeezed it, not in comfort, but in anger. The same white light reappeared, dancing around the two Avellas.

When it died away, Sylas started laughing. "It is done."

Suddenly, Ilena screamed. It wasn't a tiny shriek, or small squeal. No. It was a full-on, high-pitched wail of bloody-murder that made the hairs on the back of Peter's neck stand straight on edge. Her body crumpled, Sylas catching her before she could hit the ground.

"Ilena!" Peter's heart stopped and he rushed forward to help her, only to have Sylas's head snap in his direction.

"So it begins," Sylas said, his eyes gleaming.

Darkness flooded through Peter's eyesight. He felt his limbs go weak. With a strangled cry, he, like Ilena, hit the ground hard as the world drifted into shadows.

"So it begins."


	23. Divide and Conquer

**CHAPTER 23 – Divide and Conquer**

Caspian lost it when he saw his daughter. With a roar, he threw his fists forward and hit the window with an ear-shattering bang. The glass shuddered in its holding, but otherwise remained intact. Outside, neither Peter, or Ilena, or anyone else appeared to have heard the noise. Caspian pressed his forehead against the panel, gazing out at the scene before him. His breath came out in short bursts.

Curse that Ilena. How dare she imprison him like this! Like a rat in a cage. He should be out there, helping. Not condemned to watch from above as that complete barbarian paraded his child around like she belonged to him.

Caspian pounded on the glass again, knowing, no matter how hard he tried, he would never break through. It was that infernal Avella who was to blame. She had placed an enchantment on the castle, one which prevented Caspian from leaving. It was her way of keeping him from interfering during their meeting with Sylas.

He hated her for it.

After a solid hour of trying to unsuccessfully find a way out, he had at last given up and instead taken up vigil at one of the windows that looked out over the front where Sylas would be appearing. When the madman had finally faded, his daughter, Lucy and Edmund in tow, Caspian had resumed his frantic attempts to get out.

To no avail.

He watched in horrific silence as everything fell apart. Down went Ilena. Down went Peter. Screams erupted from Lucy and Edmund, which activated Ava's voice box as well. And then there was Sylas. His harsh laughter rang above the rest of the noise, making Caspian's blood stop cold.

Without thinking, Caspian flew from his post, headed straight for Maria and Susan. He burst through the doors to the library and his wife jumped three feet in the air. A hand clutched to her chest, she gasped, "What is it?"

Caspian said, "Sylas has done something to Peter and Ilena."

Susan's hands found her bow and arrows and she quickly nocked one, hurrying out the door without a word. She was the only one who could open the main doors, both Maria and Caspian deemed incapable by Ilena. Caspian sprinted after her, Maria right on his heels.

Even running at full speed, it took a solid minute and a half to reach the front of the castle. Afraid at what she might find on the other side, Susan hesitated for a second, then pushed the doors open. Stepping into the dying sunlight, she felt her insides spiral.

"Peter!" she cried, seeing the lifeless form of her older brother sunken into the grass. Beside him, Sylas stood, his hands clutching an equally-lifeless Ilena. Off to the side were Edmund and Lucy, their faces white, and baby Ava, who was screaming deafeningly. A Cantrical loomed down on them like a vulture, waiting to descend.

"Ahh, Susan!" Sylas cheered, lifting Ilena into a bridal position in his arms. "How wonderful to see you, dear. I was hoping you'd grace us with your presence." When Caspian appeared behind her, Sylas chuckled. "And the high-and-mighty king, as well."

"Caspian!" Susan said, hooking onto his arm as he attempted to tackle Sylas. It took all her strength to slow him down, and even then he was still moving. He struggled, yelling at her to let go. "Are you mad? He'll kill you!" she told him.

Sylas looked appalled. "I would never! No, I have much bigger plans for him. But shhhh! I don't want to spoil any surprises."

"Ava!" Maria whimpered, her hand over her mouth in terror. "Please," she begged, "please, don't hurt her. We'll do anything. Anything!"

Sylas nodded, "That is what I am counting on."

"Susan!" said Edmund, struggling against his captor, "Peter and Ilena already made their promises. They-" but he was cut off as the Cantrical holding him kneed him hard in the back of the leg.

"Promises?"

"Yes, dear Susan," said Sylas. "Your sweet brother and his seemingly-incorruptible ally have conceded to my terms in hopes of saving the children. In just a few short days, I shall be the ruler of all Narnia, precious Ilena at my side. Everything you hold dear will be nothing more than a memory."

"And in return?"

He snorted, "You can have these disgusting, little ingrates," which was quickly followed by a motion to Ava and Susan's siblings. "They will not be much use to me after I am crowned. In fact, I'll be sending all you Pevensies home, courtesy of Ilena's bargaining. Such a shame you won't be around to see my empire in all its glory."

"Somehow I think I'll live," Susan said, observing silently that Caspian had stopped fighting her. The mention of his daughter's freedom had been enough to quell his immediate wrath. She gave him a squeeze before releasing her hand and again nocking an arrow. This time, she pointed it straight at the man who had Edmund and Lucy trapped in his grip. "Let them go, then."

Sylas shook his head. "Wrong. The agreement was I would set them free. Not once was a specific date ever discussed or argued. Therefore, I shall let them go when I choose, not when you demand."

"You traitorous snake!" Caspian screamed. Once again Susan had to weigh him down to keep him out of Sylas's arm's reach.

"Temper, temper. I have done nothing wrong. Do not push me, for I am not a forgiving man," Sylas growled. "Your daughter and her comrades shall be returned to you when I see fit. End of story. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have other matters to attend to." He walked to the Cantrical. "In two days' time, Ilena and I shall be wed and I will be king. I encourage every one of you to attend the wedding. You'll find it most illuminating. Two o'clock at Cair Paravel and don't be late. Until then…" He faded.

"No!" Caspian cried, finally wrenching himself from Susan and diving after the Avella. His hands closed on air.

Behind Susan, Maria let out a strangled noise and rushed to her husband, seizing him tightly around the middle. She broke down crying into his back, her incoherent babblings echoed in Caspian's tortured wails. The sight was too much for Susan and she looked away, quietly mourning her own siblings' temporary fate.

After some time, Maria's sobs quieted and she looked up, saying in a hoarse whisper, "I'm coming with you."

"I beg your pardon?" Susan said.

"I can see it in your eyes. You're going to Cair Paravel. I'm coming with you."

"Maria," Susan said delicately, "I don't think that's the best idea." Of course Susan was going. How could she not? But one look at Maria told her the queen was severely dismantled, both physically and emotionally. Call it her pregnancy hormones; call it her manic state after the loss of her daughter-it didn't matter. She was too imbalanced to even suggest making such a journey.

Maria stood, her wrist balling into fists. "I am going," she stated angrily. "No matter what you say. Ava is my daughter, my baby. And I will not idly stand by and watch everyone else risk their lives for her."

"Yes, you will," Caspian suddenly said, getting up as well. His eyes flashed to Susan. "You both will." The two women immediately began to protest, but Caspian would not hear it. "I am to go alone. I will rescue our daughter and your brother and sister. I will free Peter. And you shall stay here. I order it."

"Order it?" Susan exclaimed. "You cannot order me around. I am a Queen of Old."

"And you relinquished that duty when you left fifteen years ago."

"Because I was told I would not return! And yet, here I am, still a queen. You have no authority to tell me what to do."

"But I do," Caspian growled. Then, he softened. "I am only saying this because I want you both to be safe. If anything happened, I would never forgive myself." At Susan's darkening expression, he went on, "Please, just this once, listen to me."

"No!" the women said in unison.

Caspian exhaled, rubbing his temples. Susan and Maria watched him carefully, both gaping when he rapidly began walking away from them. A slight pause occurred, in which they tried to divulge just where he was headed, and then they were bounding after him. He ignored their protests, didn't stop moving even when Maria grasped his arm and refused to let go.

When he made it to the stables, he mounted a horse (already dressed for riding) and tugged hard on the reins. The horse neighed in complaint, only moving forward when Caspian kicked it in the sides.

"Caspian!" Susan said for what felt like the hundredth time, "Stop!"

The horse broke into a run. Caspian maneuvered in the saddle and waved gently behind him before returning his attention to the horizon.

From the stable, Maria and Susan's furious yells echoed, following him across the landscape. It didn't take long until he was no more than a dark shape in the distance.

Maria stomped her foot, surprising Susan. The sweet woman never showed her frustration. Turning to the Gentle Queen, she said in an incensed tone, "If I didn't love him so much I'd kill him."

"He's your husband," Susan reminded her, walking to the nearest stall. She opened the door and stepped inside, comforting the frightened horse with soft whispers.

"Yes, I know," Maria sighed, still gazing after his form. When she could no longer see him, she glanced back at her companion, her eyebrows rising up. "What are you doing?"

Finishing with the saddle, Susan flung herself up into the seat. "What _we're_ doing," she corrected. Unwilling to leave the queen alone, Susan had given in to her demands. She pointed at the next stall where a brown horse stood, waiting.

Maria's eyes flickered with understanding.

"We're following him."

* * *

When Peter came to, he felt groggy. Apart from a splitting headache, he otherwise was intact, and very disoriented. He took great care in raising himself up to look around; several muscles in his neck screamed in protest as he did so.

Wherever he was, it was very dark. In the time it took for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, he had stretched out on his hands and knees and begun to scuttle around on the ground. Near as he could tell, the floor was made of cinderblock and very, very cold. It he sat back, he hit a wall, which likewise was icy. When at last he could make out faint shapes, he caught sight of something that made his shoulders slump down in relief:

White slippers.

Reaching his arm out, Peter latched himself onto Ilena's shoulder, saying her name in a hushed voice. A white plume expelled from his mouth.

She didn't answer. She didn't move.

Panic re-flooded his system quickly. Gripping her more tightly, he pushed her to face him, mortified by how wilted she was.

"Ilena?"

Her body swung with his touch, her ponytail hitting his face as it flew around. Ignoring this, Peter leaned in, aware that his breathing, besides being visible, sounded very loud in the still space. He jumped in shock when she faced him.

Dead. That was the only way to describe her. Dead. Gaunt, pale flesh, dark rings beneath her eyes, and her eyes themselves! Peter's insides crumbled.

Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief and life, flashing every hue of every color in the rainbow, were detached. Gone. The irises around her pupils retained no color, no rotation. They were simply black, still, and blank. It was almost as though they didn't exist.

In that instant, Peter realized just how much of her personality, her character was defined by her eyes. Without the stark colors she seemed…well, not Ilena.

"What did he do to you?" Peter whispered in horror, noticing that she looked right through him, like he wasn't there.

"Something unforgiveable," her reply came, hoarse.

"Your eyes." Softly, he brushed his hand across her cheek, not giving thought to his actions. She didn't move.

"Sylas has done horrible things, Peter," Ilena said, "But this…this is one of the worst. He took my sight."

"Your…sight?" Perplexed, Peter raised a questioning eyebrow, invisible in the darkness. "What do you mean?"

"My sight, Peter. My actual sight."

"As in you can't see?"

Her fingers trapped his hand, still hovering on her cheek. Frost radiated through her skin. Ilena said, "As in I can't see anything. Not you, not your hand, not even my own arm."

"But how?"

"There are several neural impulses and pathways that connect what the eyes see to the brain, which interprets it. If that connection is severed, so is the ability to see. My guess is somehow Sylas broke that connection."

"Can he do that?" Peter asked. Science had never been his strong point. Especially when infused with magic.

"His powers encompass all things to do with the mind. Not just in processes, but in structure as well. At the rate his powers are increasing, I would say yes, he can do that." A short pause followed this and then Ilena said in a heartbreaking tone, "I am nothing without my sight, Peter. Nothing."

Peter scrambled to find something to say, blurting out the first thing to enter his head. "Can't you heal it?"

Shaking in answer, she said, "My powers don't work like that. I can heal physical wounds seen by the naked eye, not internal ones."

"But you pulled 'whispers', as you called them, from my mind."

"That's different. Whispers are just that: whispers. All Avellas have the power to occasionally latch onto stray waves of thought. Only Sylas can truly explore, dismantle, and heal the brain. That's what Aslan gave him: the ability to change from the inside out. I am just the opposite. I change from the outside in."

Unexpectedly, an echoing boom pulsed through the air, followed by the sound of footsteps. Both Peter and Ilena fell silent, Peter unconsciously moving in between her and whatever was approaching. He was still reeling about Sylas's ability and had to force himself to knock out of it and pay attention. Several minutes passed and the footsteps grew louder until a petite Cantrical woman appeared. In her arms, she carried a bowl, plate and flask. She slid the tray of food into, what Peter realized, was the bars of the cell they were in. The metal grated against the floor.

"Eat," the woman commanded her voice a deep alto. She didn't wait to see if they did as they were told, but instead stalked away in the direction she had come, the same booming thud signaling her departure.

Peter glanced down at the food: a chunky soup, a roll that had been seen better days, and water. He pushed it away in disgust.

"It's safe," Ilena said. "No poison."

"Why would Sylas feed us?" asked Peter. "I thought he was trying to kill us."

"Not kill," she retorted, "just weaken. He won't kill you for two reasons. One, he made a pact with us to not harm you. And two, you are of no use to him dead. Alive, you provide him with power and strength. He feeds off your negativity, your anger, your anxiety. He's not going to give something like that up. So-"

"So," Peter finished, arriving at the same conclusion, "he keeps us here in this cage where he can affect us the most."

"Exactly."

Grabbing the tray, Peter pulled it back to him and passed it on to Ilena. "Here."

"No, you eat. I'm not hungry."

If Peter thought her eyes were unreadable before, it was nothing like now. There was no spark to betray her words and he found it infuriating.

"Ilena, just eat it. You need it more than I do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. You're a wo-" but he quickly stifled his words.

"A what, Peter? A woman?" Her eyebrows creased down, but she otherwise remained still. "Don't you pull that sexist crap on me. Who is the Avella here? I have more strength in my pinky than you have in your entire body." She seized the tray, finding it despite her blindness and shoved it back at him. "_You_ eat it."

Peter sat there, stunned. He'd never been called out like that by a girl. Of course, Ilena wasn't like most girls.

"No."

"I guess it just sits there, then," said Ilena, closing her eyes as she rested her head against the wall.

"Fine." A pregnant pause occupied the space and then Peter asked, "Where are my brother and sister? And Ava?"

Without opening her eyes, she replied, "In the dungeon wing adjacent to this one. Through that door over there."

Following her finger, Peter caught sight of the infamous door, letting out a low breath that fogged his vision. So close. He was so close. If he could just get out of this cell…

"Ilena, can you free us?"

"No, the cell is enchanted."

"Sorry?"

"Enchanted. Sylas placed a spell on it. It's impervious to my magic." To demonstrate, she lifted her arms, a thin layer of golden light coating her from fingers to elbow. With a flick of her wrist, a bolt of the light shot at the bars. When it hit, it sizzled and the acrid smell of burning metal filled the air.

"His powers are growing," stated Ilena in a despondent way. "Soon, only Aslan will be able to stop him."

* * *

In the dungeon next to them, completely oblivious to his brother's presence, Edmund placed Ava in Lucy's arms, then massaged his own. She weighed next to nothing, but after holding her in the same position for three hours, he was stiff.

"Wait," he told Lucy, pulling off his tunic. Beneath it, he wore a thin, long-sleeved shirt, hardly enough to keep the biting temperature at bay. However, his own well-being was the least of his worries and he quickly wrapped Ava up with the tunic, knowing she needed the extra heat.

"She's so cold," Lucy said, her own cheeks rosy. "Where did this winter come from? It's the middle of summer!"

"Ilena must be around here somewhere," said Edmund. "She's the only one who can control the weather."

"I hope she and Peter are ok," his sister whispered. Neither of them had been seen since Sylas faded them back to the dungeon and dragged an unconscious Peter and Ilena out the door. Lucy wondered where he had taken them.

"I'm sure they are fine," Edmund said, more to placate her than anything. Truthfully, he didn't hold much faith in their predicament. Anything that could bring an Avella down was bad news. "Let's focus on our own problems first. Is Ava still shaking?"

"No." Lucy looked over the little girl. "Thank you for your shirt. Will you be all right?"

Edmund forced himself to stop shivering. Already he could feel the difference that one layer had provided. "Don't worry about me."

Not looking convinced, Lucy still looked over the princess and began to sing to her softly, her voice quivering. Edmund knew she was cold. And unfortunately, much to his anger, there was nothing he could do about it.

Hugging his legs to his body, he curled into the tiniest ball he could, leaning against Lucy. Perhaps if they conserved body heat… He couldn't stop trembling though. Wishing more than anything for a miracle, he looked down at his feet. Inside his shoe, he could see the disgusting pattern of the socks his mother had given him before they had returned to Narnia. A small warmth filled him as he thought of her. She had been right. He did need it for the 'dreadful winter.' He chuckled, but feeling the sting in the back of his throat, fell silent.

Oh, yes. They needed a miracle.

* * *

"Here," Susan said, piling a handful of twigs onto the fire. It roared, climbing higher into the sky. Maria nodded her thanks, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"We're almost there. We should arrive about mid-day tomorrow."

Maria nodded again.

"What is wrong?" Susan at last asked, sitting down next to the queen. She had been quiet since they had decided to rest for the night.

"I'm just worried. And cold." But her tone spoke otherwise. Something else was bothering her. Seeing her expression, however, Susan decided not to push it.

"It'll be ok. You'll see. It always works out in the end. If it hasn't worked out, it's not the end."

Maria smiled a small smile. "I pray you are right, Susan."

Scampering feet made both women look up. Across from them, Lily morphed out of the darkness, her face terrified. "Horse! Horse!" she yelled.

Susan and Maria exchanged looks. They had just been leaving the castle after Caspian, when Susan had suddenly realized that Lily was still in the dungeon. Unsure of what to do with her, they finally had decided to just take her with them. At least then she would be safe. Little did they know how right they were as, only an hour after they had left, Sylas had returned to the castle with the idea to kill her. He hadn't been pleased to find her gone. He also hadn't wanted to take the time to find her, even though it would take just a few minutes. He had more pressing matters and he could always kill her later.

Now, the two queens were wondering what in Aslan's name had prompted them to bring her along. She had slowed them down, scared out of her wits of the horse. It had taken precious time to convince her to ride with Susan. Time that had put them hours behind Caspian, and unable to get to their destination before nightfall. Maria refused to ride at night, so they had been forced to camp out.

"Horse?" Maria said. "What does she mean?"

"I don't know," Susan admitted.

"Horse! Horse!" Lily screamed, pointing behind her frantically. Understanding that they didn't get her, Lily grabbed Susan's arm and tried to tug her along.

"All right! All right!" Susan said. She got to her feet. "Show me the horse."

Lily bounded forward, Susan walking behind her. The things that girl did… Susan was questioning her decision to bring her along. At least, until she heard high-pitched neighing. Gathering her skirts, she began to race.

…right in time to dive through the foliage to where they had tied the horses off and see their two steeds flying across the hill, shadows in the distance.

"Stop!" Susan cried, immediately nocking an arrow and sending it shooting after the horse thieves. It hit the first one and he toppled from the saddle, a pained cry splitting the night air. The second was too quick, however and grabbed hold of the horse's reins, pulling him along. He was out of range and Susan's next arrow missed.

"What is it?" Maria gasped, appearing behind her. Seeing the two horses, she shrieked, "No! Come back!"

But it was too late. The horses and the horse thief were gone, Maria, Susan, and Lily looking out in total despair after him.


	24. Ambush, Capture, Redemption

**CHAPTER 24 – Ambush, Capture, Redemption**

Caspian was a father on a mission. He rode like a madman over the hills and valleys of Narnia, egging his horse faster and faster. Leagues disappeared in his wake. Every nerve in his body begged him to stop and rest, but he ignored it. Not until Ava was safe again.

Hours after setting out he reached Cair Paravel. The massive castle stood proudly on the cliff, resting halfway between ground level and completion. Many of the walls were up and finished, but the roof only covered half of the fortress. Trees littered the grounds and the grass was patchy and brown. Not exactly the picture of perfection.

"Woah," Caspian said, slowing his horse to a walk. Stationed at the front and every ten feet or so around the perimeter of the building were Cantricals with swords. Nudging his horse in the side, he guided it toward a clump of trees, ducking to keep out of sight. As quietly as he could he hopped down from the saddle and edged forward.

The guards watched the landscape sharply, the very image of alertness. Nothing would get by on their watch. Nothing.

Except Caspian.

A diversion. He needed something that would call their attention. Something that would afford him the necessary time to breech the outer wall. What he needed, he thought with a groan, was Susan. It would be much easier to draw their attention with another person around.

But that ship had long since sailed, and he immediately remembered why she wasn't there. He wanted to keep her safe.

His horse nickered behind him. Prancing uneasily, the beautiful stallion threw him an impatient look and said, "With your permission, Your Majesty, let me say that I do not think this is a good idea. The danger…"

Caspian's eyebrows furrowed and he dismissed the horse's words with a flick of his hand. "Nothing is too dangerous for family, Trydin," he whispered. "And now I must ask something of you."

"You want me to distract them so you can get inside."

"I would only ask it of you if it were important," Caspian said. He noticed the sudden ferocity of his mount's nervous clip-clops.

Nevertheless, Trydin nodded his magnificent head. "Anything for you and your family, Your Majesty. Is there any specific place you wish me to lead them?"

"West. The Wood should serve as an advantage for you."

"Of course, Sire." Trydin mock bowed by lowering his front half, then stood to his full height and quietly began walking away, disappearing into the trees around him.

Caspian waited for a solid five minutes before he heard it. A high-pitched whinny screeched off his right. Keeping his eyes on the castle, he saw two Cantricals swerve in the direction of the noise, shout a brutish order to their comrades and fly out after Trydin, who had bolted West at once. The two Cantricals followed at an inhuman speed, but Trydin didn't let up. Soon, all three were out of sight.

Why they had decided to run after him and not use horses was beyond Caspian.

The other Cantricals surrounding the castle moved close together, filling up the empty space. They were further apart, but still could overtake him in seconds if they spotted him. As silently as he could, Caspian crept forward toward the castle. He knew practically nothing about the layout of the Pevensies' home, and had to rely on his eyes.

After several minutes of inspecting the walls, he finally found a small opening in the blocks, caved in, still in need of some last-minute repair. It was enough.

Checking to see if the coast was clear (it was; both Cantricals around him were otherwise engaged in looking about the rest of the grounds) he tucked and rolled for the opening. It was a tight fit, but he managed to make it, forcing himself to compress into the tiniest shape he could.

Once on the other side of the outer wall, he found himself in the courtyard of the castle. Huge weeds protruded up from the dead grass and he took shelter behind a huge overgrown fern, his heart hammering in his chest. Sneaking a peak around one of the leaves, he caught sight of more Cantricals, at least twice as many as the ones who had been guarding the outside.

Aslan, how was he going to do this?

It didn't matter because, the next second, he felt something heavy clamp down on his shoulder and haul him to his feet. Up, up, up he went until he was face to face with the largest man he had ever seen.

He had been detected.

"Dead," the Cantrical said plainly, his eyes glinting maniacally. His forearm was four times the size of Caspian's waist, his head two lengths above his own. There was no doubt in Caspian's mind that what he said was true. He was dead.

Not to say that Caspian didn't try to fight off the man. Swinging his fist, he kicked and swung for all he was worth. The man easily evaded his pitiful tries.

"Dead," the man said again. And then, bringing his own giant fist down, he struck Caspian across the face. Stars erupted in the King's eyes and his form went slack. Darkness overtook him.

* * *

"Are you scared?"

Tracing her finger along the seams of the blocks in the wall, Ilena said, "There aren't many things in this world I fear, Peter. Least of all, Sylas."

"You didn't answer the question."

She sighed. "No, I am not scared. There are hundreds of things I could think of that alarm me more than marrying him. For one, the fate of Narnia. For another, your safety."

"My safety?" Peter stretched his leg out, trying to rid himself of a cramp that had set in his muscles.

Ilena laughed at the uncertainty in his voice. "Despite what you may think, I do actually care whether or not you die. I didn't spend all that time training you just to have you fall in the heat of battle. Never underestimate your role in deciding Narnia's future, Peter, for it's an important one. Your safety is one of my more vital missions."

"Oh." Peter ruffled his hair with his hand. "Well, thank you. I think. I'm not the only who is fighting. My family will be out there, in the end. So will many of my friends. Worry for their safety as well."

"I am, of that you can be sure."

"That includes you, you know."

Ilena's finger stopped its graceful arc. "You consider me a friend?"

"Despite what you may think," Peter said, grinning broadly, "I do actually consider you to be a friend." When she didn't say anything, he offered, "If that's alright with you, of course."

Ilena dropped her hand. She and Peter had been sitting back to back, resting against one another. Slowly, the pressure against his vanished as she sat up straight. "Honestly, Peter," she admitted, "I don't know if I can survive having another friendship. The last one didn't end too well, if you know what I mean."

Peter swiveled his head around to face her, forgetting she couldn't see him. "I'm not Sylas, Ilena. I'm not going to betray you."

"I wish I could believe you," she said.

"Why can't you?" Peter knew he should feel offended, but all that filled him from head to toe was sadness. They had only been through the world and back together. If she still couldn't rely on him…

"Because," she said in a constricted way, "I just can't. I don't know how." Her words came bit by bit, each more tightly wound than the last. "I…I'm not good at this sort of thing. I'd like to think I'm not still that naïve Avella I was when Sylas…" She twisted slightly so he could see her face. "There's nothing more that I want than to be close to people. To you and your family. But every time I try this barrier appears. I can't think straight. My heart races. I start searching for an escape. It's not something I can control. It's a nightmare."

Peter bit his lip, thinking. "We don't bite, promise."

"Ha ha," she said flatly, a small smile emerging. "I know you don't. You're probably the nicest people I've ever met. That's what makes it so difficult. The nicer you are, the harder it is to let my guard down. For instance, this," she rested against him, "is pushing my comfort levels."

Leaning back more, Peter set the backside of his head against hers. "I think it's kind of nice," he murmured after a moment. "I don't have to worry about being attacked from the rear."

"Because there's a high chance you'll be attacked in a cell, isn't there?" she joked. "And you may not bite, but I've been known to nibble occasionally. Just to warn you."

"What I wonder," he said, "is how you find simple touches like sitting as we are now or holding hands tough when you can easily verbally tear me to shreds without any hesitancy whatsoever."

"Have you ever heard the saying 'actions speak louder than words'? You reassuring me by simply stating that you won't betray me is one thing. Looking me in the eyes while you do it is another thing entirely. I find it easier to get my emotions out with words because then I know that no matter what I won't speak with my body and convey something that doesn't exist. Like promises I don't intent to keep. I challenge you because I want you to be better. To push yourself. And because it's the only way I can tell you I like you. Everything I say is meant as a joke."

"I wasn't always laughing," he said. "But thank you. It's nice to know that you yelling at me to get off my butt was a thing of endearment."

She laughed. "Ok, I'll admit I took it too far sometimes. But never without a purpose behind it."

Breathing deeply, Peter inspected the ceiling. It felt a little odd to be speaking so freely with her. She wasn't this open normally. Taking advantage of it, he asked, "You like me?"

"When you're not trying to kill me with your sword or cursing the living daylights out of me, yes. Surprising, isn't it?" Ilena altered her position somewhat, but didn't move away. "You're a lot braver than me."

"What?"

"I'm being serious, ok? You have a courage that I have never seen before. It's a little disturbing, really, how hard you fight. I've been watching you during our training sessions and you push yourself harder than anyone I have ever laid eyes on."

"But I'm not the one charging into battle with Sylas," he reminded her, surprised. The level of respect she had for him far surpassed what he had thought. "I'm not the one sacrificing herself for the good of Narnia."

"Were you in my position, you'd do the same," she pointed out. Faintly, Peter could hear the sound of her nail scraping against the floor once more. "I know you would."

Peter couldn't deny that. He'd suffer a thousand deaths if it meant Narnia was safe. "Maybe we're more alike than I thought." Straining his head around, he could see her face out of the corner of his eye. "I like you, too."

She beamed softly. "At least someone does."

"My family likes you, too. Especially Lucy."

"Lucy likes almost everyone."

"True." Peter opened his mouth to keep going, but thought better of it and shut it, then opened it again. "Were I to turn around and take both your hands and look you in the eyes while I say I will never betray you, would I get smacked?"

Ilena didn't say anything right away. Then in a tense voice she said, "No. But I would prefer if you didn't. Except for the part where you look in my eyes. That no longer bothers me."

Flinging himself about, he crawled around her so that they were face to face. Her empty eyes were staring above him, far off into the regions of space. He heard her teeth clench when he took her hands in his and said with a grin, "I'm not one for following orders. The High King in me doesn't like it." Dropping his voice, he said as gently as he could, "I promise I will never betray you."

"Don't," she warned him but Peter refused to stop.

"I am not Sylas and I will not hurt you."

Pressure built in her hands. Peter felt the throbbing of her veins by her wrists. "For Aslan's sake," she finally said, "I do hope you keep your word, Peter Pevensie. Because I can't handle being lied to again. Just this once…I'll try to trust you."

Peter grinned, feeling the sweet rush of victory wash over him. Without missing a beat, he pulled her into a hug, noting the rock-hard tightness in her shoulder blades. The sweet smell he had encountered what felt like eons ago returned.

"Just take a deep breath," he instructed her.

To his great surprise, she did as he said. Beneath his hands, her shoulders rose up. As she exhaled, her body wilted enough to where she didn't feel like a coil ready to jump the instant he let go.

"Better?"

"Yes," she murmured against his chest. "Thank you."

They stayed like that for neither knew how long, just taking in the embrace and what it afforded them. For Peter, it was his way of reassuring her. Of telling her that he did care for her. That everything would be ok. The small body he hugged was warm against the bitter cold. Each breath she took reminded him why he was fighting. His heart grew larger with each passing second.

For Ilena, it was a struggle. She wanted to push herself off of him and away. The touch was much too close, and far too soft. She didn't like it. And yet…and yet, at the same time, she did. She liked that Peter liked her enough to try and comfort her. To help her. To ask for her trust. She wanted to give it to him. Already she was trying. She forced herself to not move and just enjoy the weight of the hands across her back and Peter's breath, which tickled her neck.

Eventually, she did pull back. Peter's brain hadn't quite gotten up to speed with the action, so his hands were still folded across her. Hastily, he put them in his lap, still smiling. She had stayed in his arms much longer than he had thought she would.

"There, see?" he said to lighten the mood. "That wasn't so hard."

"Maybe for you," she quipped. But she too was smiling.

"You didn't take my head off."

"I was considering it," Ilena said. "You're a very easy person to be around, High King, did you know that? If Caspian had tried that…"

"Maria would kill you?"

"Yes, that." She re-took his hand in hers. "But what I was going to say is, if Caspian had tried that he'd be flattened against the wall right now with his fingers burnt off."

"So I got off lucky."

"Yes, you did." She laughed quietly. "You have my trust now, Peter. Don't take advantage of that."

With absolute sincerity, he replied, "I don't plan to."

* * *

It didn't take long for Maria's calves to start burning. Their small group had been walking for hours, having left before the sun was up. Susan knew the way, as did, strangely enough, Lily, and together they led her toward Cair Paravel. Through all the years of the war, she hadn't been outside much. For her safety, Caspian had requested she remain indoors, and she had done so gladly. She wasn't a nature person. Not really. Now her feet were killing her as a result.

"Are you all right?" Susan asked, shortening her strides. Maria observed with jealousy that the Gentle Queen wasn't at all out of breath.

_I'll blame it on the pregnancy_, she decided before responding, "Yes, just a little sore and cold."

"We can slow down if you need to."

"No," Maria declined at once. "I want to get there as soon as possible. No delays."

Susan brushed her hair aside, wishing she had something to tie it back. In her hands, she held her bow, nocked and ready. Walking, they were far more likely to be attacked than if they were traveling by horse. "I hate to tell you this," Susan said, "but we won't be there for several more hours."

"Don't tell me that," Maria groaned. "The one reason I'm still moving is because I keep telling myself it's just around the next corner."

"Water," Lily suddenly stated. Her face was to the wind. "Water there," and she pointed forward along their path.

Susan's throat abruptly ran dry. Maria, likewise, came to terms with how thirsty she was. The two women looked at one another simultaneously, the same thought running through their heads. "Water," they chorused dreamily and broke into giggles.

"Lead the way, Lily," Susan said, gesturing for the redhead to show them. The Cantrical girl puffed out her chest proudly in a dead-on Edmund pose when he beat Peter at something and charged onward. More giggles.

It took half an hour to locate the water. It was in the form of a small creek that cut through a wooded area. Gurgling noises accompanied the water as it rushed over rocks and plants. Eagerly, Lily plunged her hand in (her other arm was still injured), cupped some, and took a long drink. She, too, was parched. It didn't matter that the water was freezing.

Susan reached after her, enjoying the calming sensation as the liquid ran down her throat. Awkwardly, Maria followed suit. They each took their fill, not in any rush to move on. Sitting felt nice.

"Thank you, Lily," said Susan, her lips pulled up into a smile. "We needed that."

"Welcome," Lily said. She sat back on her legs and examined their surroundings. They were encircled by a fence of trees. The creek disappeared to both the right and the left. Everything was still.

"I think we should go," Susan said, listening. It was too still. She didn't like it. "Now."

"What it is?" Maria asked, not picking up on it. "Is someone coming?"

"I don't know. But I want to leave this place." Standing up, the Gentle Queen did a complete 360.

"All right. Let us go," Maria complied, standing as well.

"Lily?"

The girl didn't move. Like Susan, she had become stationary, her ears searching. That's when Susan knew she wasn't the only one whose spine had felt an uncomfortable chill. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather. They were being followed. Or watched. Or both.

"Come on," and Susan grabbed Lily's good arm, hauling her to her feet. Lily's eyes narrowed, but she did as Susan beckoned and followed the two queens away from the creek.

They walked for twenty minutes. No birds called after them. No animals crossed their path. There was nothing but the rustle of branches. Maria curiously looked about, waiting for something to jump out at her.

Suddenly, there was a _thump_ from behind them. The three girls spun around and screams split the silence.

**Reviews are loved...**


	25. Evening the Odds

**CHAPTER 25 – Evening the Odds**

Hours passed. Light appeared through the window and vanished once more, signaling the end of their first full day in the cell. The bitter temperature faded. Night fell. Peter continued talking, unobservant to the world around him.

"And then we stepped through the tree and appeared back at the train station," he said, coming to the end of his tale. As he did so, memories shot at him. Every emotion that had been flooding through him as he had left Narnia, for what had then been his final time, came thundering back to life. He gritted his teeth at the heartache. "We got on the train and that was that. We went on with our lives."

"And yet here you are," Ilena said. Except to clarify certain points, she hadn't spoken during his re-telling. She knew the story of the Pevensies and how they had on multiple occasions saved Narnia. Nevertheless, she had asked him to tell her the story of both visits, wanting to hear it through his eyes.

Peter sighed and nodded. "Yes, I don't quite understand that." He'd give anything to understand the reason behind his return. It wasn't like he had done a lot of good upon re-emerging in the mystical land. At least, in his opinion.

"Aslan works in mysterious ways. You can, however, rest assured that he brought you back because he knew Narnia needed you. Don't question that."

"I know," Peter said somewhat defensively. "I just wish I knew why he told me I wouldn't come back before. It would have made life a lot more enjoyable had I known there was even the smallest chance I would be allowed to return."

"Did you ever think that maybe he was testing you?"

"Testing me?"

Ilena's blind eyes continued to stare at the ceiling as she explained, "Perhaps he wanted you to learn how to live without Narnia. You may call this place home, but really it isn't. Your family belongs in another world at this point in your lives. When the time comes, and only then, will Aslan permit you to remain in his world. Right now you're just visiting. You have to be able to stand on your own two feet and face the trials of England."

"Narnia was a way of helping us face England, though."

"Yes, so that you could face England and learn what you can't here before you reside in Narnia permanently. Basically, you're learning here to be able to learn somewhere else so that you have a firm grip on reality and how Aslan's love spreads beyond the borders of Narnia, following you no matter where you go. He's teaching you how to believe in something greater than yourself."

"Then why bring us back?" Peter asked, something still tugging at his brain. "Why again? Weren't two experiences enough?"

"Maybe he felt that you weren't ready to let go just yet."

"But I had. I had accepted it. I had moved on."

Ilena's jaw set and she shook her head before he was even done speaking. "Had you?"

More memories came. Sitting at his desk, trying to study, but thinking up battle strategies. Falling asleep but finding it impossible because his mind was awake with the images of centaurs, dwarves and talking animals. Kissing his mother on the cheek and remembering how he used to do the same to a fair noblewoman from a distant land, who had come to negotiate peace between their lands. Looking out the window as a storm raged overhead, smelling the woody scent of Cair Paravel's grounds. Being pushed around by adults who thought him too young to have a worthy opinion and wishing he was still king so that he could teach them a lesson about respect.

Maybe he hadn't let go as much as he had thought.

"All right," Peter admitted, his voice hitching. "Possibly, I haven't let go. Can you blame me? How does one let go of something that's so important to them? How can I go on with my life after experiencing all of this? How can I let go? It's part of me."

"When you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours forever." Ilena rested her head in the curve of his head and shoulder. "Sometimes we have to trust that the thing we can't live without can't live without us either."

"Easy for you to say. Narnia will always exist for you."

Her head snapped up at him. "I'd like it to. But wanting something doesn't make it true. I don't know if it will still be here tomorrow. The trick is living in the moment and not worrying about what the future may hold. You end up worrying so much that you forget to take advantage of the things going on around you."

"Deep words for someone who is living in the past." It was a low blow, but Peter's mouth seemed to have taken on a mind of its own.

"Touché. But looking at the past helps us grow as people. Looking at the future only holds us back. Your previous times in Narnia taught you to look back and enjoy what had been, learn from your mistakes and be thankful for what you have. And now you're back again. Now is your chance to live in the moment. Don't worry if you don't return. For now just enjoy that you are here and live."

She sat up, then said wryly, "Though living in a cell probably isn't what Aslan meant."

"If I am living in the moment, though…at least I'm here with you."

"I am pretty extraordinary, aren't I?" she laughed. Heat spiraled through Peter, spreading from his fingertips to his chest.

"I suppose."

Ilena punched him lightly in the arm, throwing him a 'Watch it!' face, but giggled anyway. When the last of her chuckles faded away, she said in all seriousness, "Just don't forget one thing: the greatest thing about Narnia is there's always a way back."

Her words would have relaxed him, eased him, comforted him, if not for the sharp bang that followed. This time the footsteps that approached their prison were not the light pitter-patter of the Cantrical woman, but a heavier, wider stride that made the ground shake.

"High King," drawled Sylas, his arrogant tone ripping Peter's decent mood to shreds. "Or should I say, 'peasant'? I do hope you are enjoying yourself here at the hotel Sylas, because my hospitality ends now."

Beside him, Peter felt Ilena become rigid. She was remembering what he did to her eyes. Anger swept Peter up. That monster.

"Oh, dearest Ilena, the time has come!" Sylas's pupils contracted and the metal bars that separated him from them evaporated. His tall form loomed over them. He stepped inside the cage.

"And our accord?" she said defiantly, standing. Peter wanted to beg her not to go with him. "You _will_ honor it."

"Yes, yes, yes." Sylas waved his hand, dismissing her. "I will honor it, etcetera, etcetera…" His steely blue eyes sparked. "But not now. Now you come with me. Wouldn't want you to miss your own wedding." He moved forward, latching onto her wrist and dragging her behind him. "Can't have you looking like that. Not that you're not beautiful. But I do believe women usually wear dresses to these sort of things."

"I can walk on my own, thank you!" Ilena twisted her arm out of his grasp.

"Fine, but first," Sylas said, and he re-gripped her wrist, taking her left shoulder in his other hand. Ilena winced as a bright light surrounded her from head to toe. The man must have been getting stronger because within five seconds Ilena had dropped down, swinging in his hands. Her lifeless eyes rolled back in her head.

"Just a little insurance that you don't try anything funny," he told her, but Peter doubted she could hear him. Sylas threw her out of the cell behind him and she hit the floor. Swinging back to the oldest Pevensie he snarled, "Ready yourself, peasant, for the next time you see her every tiny drop of life will be gone from her body."

He started to walk away, then turned back a second time. "Oh, and do not think me rude. Here is a little company while you contemplate the end of everything you love." He flicked his hand and from nowhere Caspian appeared, covered in dirt and blood, his body inert. Like Ilena, Sylas threw the king, his head bouncing off the wall of the cell. Sylas raised his hand once more and the bars took shape, sizzling. With that, he dragged Ilena away, the sound of her body against the floor causing a strangled cry to explode from Peter's mouth. He leapt at the bars but it was too late.

A bang indicated that the two Avellas were gone. Swiping at the open air, Peter growled, his frustration taking physical form as he banged his fists against the bars again and again. After several swings, he felt the hot, wet sensation of blood running down his hands. He stopped.

From behind him there came a groan. Peter's head whipped around and he fell to Caspian's side, rotating the man around until he faced him. A nasty cut split Caspian's left cheek, which was smeared in blood. One of his eyes was black. His clothes were coated in dirt.

"Caspian?" Peter said, shaking him gently. "Caspian."

Caspian groaned in response. His arm twitched. He opened his eyes.

"Peter," he croaked out once he could make out his companion's face.

"Caspian, what happened? Are Susan and Maria safe? Did he attack the castle?"

His questions were too much too soon and Caspian shook his head, then rolled to his side and retched. The smell burned Peter's nose, but he was too busy worrying about the two women to give it much thought. Awkwardly he patted Caspian's back until Caspian fell still.

My apologies," Caspian said, wiping his mouth, facing Peter. His worn eyes fought to stay open. "They are fine. And no, he did not attack the castle."

Realizing that the man needed a moment to compose himself, Peter looked away, hearing Caspian gulp down some air before beginning to speak.

"I saw him do something to you and Ilena. I did not know what but I knew it was not good. He faded with you all just as I made it through the doors and attempted to stop him. He said you were here, at Cair Paravel, and that if I had any hopes of saving my daughter… I followed him. I ordered Maria and Susan to stay behind."

"Cair Paravel." Ilena hadn't mentioned that. Peter glanced around him. It looked nothing like his once proud castle. The dungeons had never been this gloomy, even as far as dungeons went. "So they are safe?"

"Yes," Caspian said, "they are safe." Then he turned away once more and emptied the contents of his stomach.

Hearing him be sick was not exactly what Peter envisioned when he had imagined news of his sister's safety. Still, he breathed a deep sigh of reprieve and thanked Aslan for watching over her. If only the same could be true for the other women in his life.

* * *

"Calm yourselves, dear ones," Aslan instructed, his eyes crinkling affectionately.

Susan did as she was told. She shut her mouth at once, closing off the loud shriek that had flown from her lips without a thought. The next second she was on her knees, her cheeks burning as she lowered her bow to the ground.

Aslan didn't look too upset that the Gentle Queen had just tried to kill him with an arrow.

It took Maria longer to understand what was happening. Her wide eyes watched the Great Lion carefully, surveying every inch of him. Clearly she didn't believe this was really happening. That the King stood in front of her, his kind smile beaming down at them.

After an eon of inspecting him, she let out a little gasp and likewise fell to the forest floor, her head slung over in respect. Her heart beat unevenly in her chest. Her hands shook.

Lily didn't react at all, other than to shut her mouth when Susan did and brush her long bangs aside to see him better. A questioning sound left her. She stomped the floor unnervingly.

"Rise, Queens of Narnia," Aslan said, sitting on his hind-legs. Susan and Maria stood awkwardly, still averting their gazes from him. He chuckled, the low tone rich and warm, like a summer breeze. "An arrow will not change anything. Look at me."

Susan's eyes at last met his and she smiled hesitantly. Maria looked as well, but she still wore an embarrassed expression.

"Aslan," Susan began, but her words fell short. There were many things she wanted to say to him, but found she couldn't structure them to her liking. He nodded, then jumped from his perch above them so that he was standing in front of her.

"Your Majesty," Maria fumbled out, curtsying. The poor woman was beyond flustered by his appearance. All the stories in the world could not have prepared her for this moment.

"You have traveled far," Aslan said, not looking at all bothered by the two women's obvious surprise. He didn't acknowledge Lily. "But I am afraid your journey is not quite over. There are more places you must visit on this day."

"Aslan, we need your help," Susan implored, wanting nothing more than to run to his side and bury her head in his fur. His very presence had washed out any and all self-doubt she possessed.

"I know. You are not alone. Your siblings and your husband and daughter are also in trouble. We must go to them." He gazed at Maria. "Do not be afraid."

"I shall try, Your Highness. Forgive me," Maria said, her voice shaking along with her hands.

Aslan nodded, and then finally took notice of Lily. The girl's body was tight, the strain on her veins visible through her pale skin. He approached the Cantrical slowly. When he sat across from her, less than two feet separating them, he blew on her. Her hair flew back. Her eyes closed.

When she opened them again, a smile lifted the corners of her cheeks and she said, "Aslan. King." She inclined her head.

Aslan nodded in response, mirroring her movement. He turned back to the other two.

"We must go," he said. "Time is running short and there is much to be done." He lowered himself to the ground. "Climb on my back. We must move quickly. The fate of Narnia depends on it."

Susan didn't need to be told twice. Without a word she bustled forward and crawled on top of him, situating herself quickly. She slung her bow over her shoulder. Maria clambered after her, wrapping her arms around her waist. They both look expectantly as Lily. Lily shook her head and backed away.

"No," she said. "Not ready. Must go."

"Lily," said Susan.

"Let her go," Aslan interjected. "Her destiny lies elsewhere."

Lily nodded eagerly, grinned and then twisted around and scampered off into the underground and out of sight.

They watched her go, then Aslan stood up. "Hold on," he told the women on his back. "And cover your ears." Seeing they had done so, he lunged forward, an ear-shattering roar guiding them as he ran faster than Susan, or anyone else for that matter, had ever witnessed.

The sensation of Aslan running reminded Susan of the first time she had ever rode atop the magnificent Lion. Only this time Maria was beside her, not Lucy. With a pang, Susan mentally called out to her younger sister, wishing she was there.

Suddenly, they were somewhere else entirely. A huge rolling plain stretched out beneath them, dandelions waving. A boy, no older than twelve, was huddled on the ground, his arms around his legs, clutching them to his chest. He had dark skin and black hair that was in a ponytail on the back of his head. He wore a blue tunic with a silver belt around his waist and navy pants. His eyes were shut, his middle section rising and falling with each breath.

"Quinn," Aslan said, letting out a deep breath on the boy. "Wake."

The boy stirred, stretched his arms behind his head and sat up. Silver eyes focused on the Great Lion. "Aslan," he said, dipping his head forward. "What is it?"

"Rise, Quinn. The time is now. We need you."

"What for?" Quinn asked, yawning. He glanced at Susan and Maria but didn't appear to be bothered by them. As if Aslan let people ride on his back every day of the week.

"One of your own has broken free."

Quinn froze. He lips parted in horror and he sprang to his feet. "I shall wake all those I can find."

"Thank you, dear one. And hurry. He is growing stronger."

"I shall," and with that, Quinn faded.

"Who was that?" Susan questioned. Her hands were gripping tightly to Aslan's fur.

"A friend of Ilena's."

"An Avella?"

Aslan nodded. "His name is Quinn and he watches over the world when the sun goes down. He is the Keeper of Night and Dreams. If anyone can find the other Avellas, he can. He cannot, however, do it alone. We must find those he cannot reach. I am afraid I must ask you to hold on again."

This time, they appeared on a mountain in the north. Snow fluttered around them, sticking to their clothes. Susan and Maria would have been shivering if not for the warmth that radiated from Aslan. He let out a second booming roar and the snow began to swirl faster.

From it, a woman appeared. She was older-in her sixties, it looked like. White hair fell to her waist in ringlets, attired by a crystal band on the crown of her head. She wore a white dress with intricate beading. Her skin was so pale, it almost blended with her clothes and hair, giving her the look of a moving mass of snowflakes that just so happened to be in the shape of a person.

"Aslan," the woman said, kneeling.

"Aryanna," Aslan greeted her. "I come with dire news. Your assistance is needed. I have woken Quinn. Find him. He will tell you everything."

Aryanna put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "Finally, some action," she said, with a wicked grin. She nodded at the two queens and continued, "I thought these old bones had seen the end of adventure as we know it."

Aslan grinned in spite of himself. "This will be one you will not easily forget."

"What am I waiting for, then?" She winked and then faded.

"Aryanna," Aslan told the queens without being prompted. "Keeper of the Past. She has a strong spirit."

They moved again.

The third Avella they met was a man, somewhere in his early twenties. With bright-red hair and brilliant green eyes, a strong build and beautiful smile, it didn't surprise Susan when Aslan told them he was the Keeper of Love.

"Are you feeling all right, Susan?" Maria asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," Susan said, blushing. She supposed Maria hadn't been affected due to the fact she was all ready married. Susan on the other hand…

Aslan growled a laugh. "Let us move on."

And so they did. Each Avella they came in contact with left Susan and Maria in awe, not just because they were meeting legendary figures, but primarily because said figures existed. No matter which one, they all held a significant role in the queens' lives. The tiniest of decisions, of moments that defined who they were were being driven and guided by these amazing creations.

After awhile Maria worked up the courage to ask, "Aslan, why are we doing this?"

Aslan replied, "Dear one, we cannot do this alone. Like the inhabitants of Narnia, like the people of Susan's world, we must pull together. The Avellas were created for this purpose. They are rising to the call of what they were made for: to protect Narnia. To protect everything that is important to us. Only by standing together can we succeed."

"It's an army," Maria gasped. "Your army."

"Yes. With their help, we will win. Of course, not without Ilena. She is the last one we must gather."

"I hope she and Peter are all right," Susan murmured.

"We cannot know until we finish this. There are many more Avellas that must be awakened."

"Then let us hurry!" Maria said, and they felt Aslan's body convulse beneath them as he quickened his all ready-rapid pace. Without realizing it, she stuck her hand out before them, her finger pointing toward the horizon in a perfect imitation of Peter and she shouted, "For Narnia!"

It brought such a sense of nostalgia to Susan that she did likewise, pointing straight in front of them.

Aslan growled in response.

"For Narnia!"

**Finally, after 25 chapters, Aslan. He is not an easy character to write for, seeing as how he is so perfect. Nevertheless, I hope I did him justice. This chapter was orignally titled, 'Aslan's Army,' but I felt it gave it away too soon. Remember, reviews are awesome! Don't give up for our characters. The dawn is coming!**


	26. The Last Song

**CHAPTER 26 – The Last Song**

The night dragged on. Each second felt like an eternity. Peter quickly gave up trying to keep the time. Morning, he felt certain, would never come. His anxiety only prolonged the wait.

Caspian tried once or twice to talk to him once his stomach had settled down, but the High King offered only one-word answers. Caspian took the hint easily, knowing what was plaguing his thoughts, and they sat in silence for the remainder of the night.

After several lifetimes, morning rays at last shone through the window. Peter's heart beat faster. Without missing a beat, the instant the light touched him, the dungeon door swung open and four Cantrical men stomped in, quickly followed by Sylas.

"You two get the children," he ordered, and two of the hulking monsters admitted themselves into the door adjacent to Caspian and Peter's cell. The door shut behind them, but not before Peter heard Edmund say, "Get behind me."

Meanwhile, Sylas bent forward in front of the two kings, his hands on his knees, his face broken into a cruel smile. "Today is the day," he said to them cheerfully. "And what a glorious day it is!"

Peter glared at the man, saying nothing.

Sylas shook his head and straightened. "Now, now. None of that. What would Ilena say if she were here?"

"Probably that I was making her proud."

Sylas's grin grew wider. "Perhaps you do know her. How fortunate for you." With a swing of his hand, the bars separating them vanished. Neither king tried to get up. They knew it would be futile. Sylas reprimanded them. "Children, do not make me ask twice. Please stand."

It was only because he knew he'd be up whether he liked it or not that Peter pushed himself up. He'd rather do it himself than have that man in his head. Again. Caspian hesitated, but then did the same.

The door to the other wing of the dungeon opened and out traipsed Edmund and Lucy, Ava in Edmund's arms. Both of Peter's siblings had a strong arm gripped around their bicep, slamming them forward impatiently.

"Peter!" Lucy said when she saw him. Neither she, nor Edmund had known he was so close.

"Lucy," he whispered, longing to hug her. But Sylas stood in his way.

"Touching," Sylas said, rolling his eyes at the exchange. "I might be sick. Do not worry-you'll all have plenty of time to get re-acquainted later. For now…" He pointed toward the door leading out of the dungeon. The Cantricals holding Edmund and Lucy tugged them toward it and yanked it open, shoving them out of sight.

"I will now offer you a choice," Sylas said. "You can either be physically forced out like them, or you can walk alongside me. Either way you will end up where I deem you needed."

Peter and Caspian glanced at one another, a single thought sparking between them.

"Don't try to escape," Sylas sighed. "You won't last ten seconds if you do. The same goes for attacking me," he added when they shared a second idea.

"We'll walk," Peter finally said. Happy at their decision, Sylas clapped his hands together and beckoned them to follow him. The two Cantricals took the rear and off they went.

An itch to use his sword passed through Peter. To occupy his attention, he instead inspected the hallway they walked down, dismayed at the state of his beloved home. Clearly the architects who had been hired to resurrect the castle had been unable to finish their task. The walls were up, no more than cinderblocks. The roof didn't quite cover the entire hallway and Peter could see the blazing sun overhead when they went under an incomplete section. Everything was bare. Only one level stood, and even it wasn't done.

Sylas led them down a maze of corridors. Were it not for the fact that Cair Paravel was being re-built the exact way it had been when he had lived there, Peter felt sure he would have been lost. Nobody spoke as they moved, though Sylas kept shooting gleeful looks at them, obvious pleased that he had so much control over the situation.

After many long, tense moments, they finally stopped outside of double-doors. Sylas removed the enchantment placed on the lock and one side sprung open. Gesturing within, he said to Peter, "Your lady awaits."

There was only one lady to whom he could be referring and Peter nearly tripped over himself in his anxiousness to get inside. When he managed to get his entire body through the door, he heard it shut behind him and click, obviously locked once more.

But then he forgot about the fact that he was trapped. He forgot about Caspian, alone with Sylas. He forgot about his siblings, wherever they were. The thing that held his attention was currently standing before him, trying to unsuccessfully shove a veil on her head.

But no. It couldn't be her. It had to be some terrible joke. Sylas was playing mind games with him. He wouldn't let Peter see her. Not when he was trying to cause them pain, which could only happen if they were apart. Yes, it had to be a trick of some kind.

"Don't just stand there," Ilena griped at him, "help me!"

…ok, so it was her.

Peter didn't move.

Ilena wasn't a girly-girly. She had never, in all the time Peter had known her, worn anything even remotely close to what a typical Narnian woman might. No dresses, skirts, corsets, or high-heels for her. She preferred shirts, breeches and slippers. Make-up? As if. Taking the time to style her hair? Yeah, right.

As such, the instant he saw her in her wedding gown he nearly had a heart attack. The dress was blindingly white and big. It hung off her shoulders daintily, exposing the sun-kissed skin Peter had become so used to seeing. The bodice clung tightly to her, the waist flaring out into a full skirt that skimmed her toes-still in her white slippers. There was nothing particularly special about the dress. No elaborate beading or ruffles decorated it. It was, simply, white material cut in the shape of a dress. Hardly anything to be compared to the gowns Peter had seen at court.

But bloody hell was she pretty.

"Hello, Peter?"

He blinked, his neck snapping as he jumped in surprise. He pulled his eyes from her outfit to her face. Realizing why the veil was giving her so much trouble, he willed his legs to move. They did so with a fair amount of wobbling.

She was standing on a stool which put her just high enough that, for once, she was eye-to-eye with him. Taking the band from her hands he gently placed it on her head, letting the meshy fabric fall against her hair, which was down and loose. It fell to the small of her back, waving softly.

Had he mentioned she looked pretty?

Peter couldn't decide what threw him more: her hair being free of her standard ponytail, or the dress.

"Thanks," she said, and she dropped her hands, turning to face him.

Oh, yes. It was definitely the dress.

"Uh," he said intelligently. "You're…you're welcome."

If his words sounded as awkward to her as they did to him, she didn't let on. Stepping down from the stool, she picked her skirt up by the sides and lifted it before sitting down, draping it over her legs. A deep sigh punctured Peter's ears. Wordlessly he sat down next to her.

"You look beautiful," he told her earnestly, unable to think up anything else to say.

She groaned, putting her face in her hands. "Don't tell me that."

Now Peter wasn't exactly knowledgeable when it came to women. But he knew enough to know that women liked being told they were beautiful.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to be beautiful. Not for him."

"You don't have to go through with this." Peter self-consciously crossed his arms, afraid at what might happen if he gave into his want to hug her and tell her everything was going to be ok. "We'll find some other way."

Ilena shook her head. "That's just it-there is no other way." She held her arm out for him to see. Red, angry ribbons curled around her forearm and wrist, glowing brightly as she said, "My words are bound in magic. Sylas may be powerful, but even he can't break that type of bind. I have to do this."

Peter tried to find a loophole. "But you don't have to do it today. You didn't swear by a date."

"True. But I will not postpone. It will happen eventually, so I might as well do it earlier rather than later. Besides, the sooner it's over, the sooner he'll send you home where you'll be safe."

"It's not my safety I'm worried about."

This time, her ears perked up at the tone of his voice. Her eyebrows arched. "Do not worry about me. I was created to protect Narnia. If this is how it must be done, then so be it."

"It's not fa-"

"I'll bet you're wondering why you're here," she interrupted him, standing up. The hem of her dress brushed against him.

He nodded, but then, remembering she couldn't see, sputtered, "Yes."

Ilena paced the floor. "You are here," she said, each word sounding like it was being ripped from her throat, "because Sylas is not content with just marrying me and being done with it. No, he has to drag it out in the most brutal way possible. All because he thinks it's fun." She held the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "He's forcing you to walk me down the aisle."

"Walk you…" Peter suddenly had a vision of Ilena on his arm, stepping slowly forward, Sylas leering at them in the distance. He suppressed a shudder.

"Normally, were I marrying someone I actually felt something positive for, Aslan would be the one to give me away. I have no father to speak for me, seeing as how he created me. Thus, he would assume that rule. But also seeing as how he is not around at the moment and the last thing Sylas is going to do is seek him out, he's decided for the good of everyone to cause the most pain he can by having you do it instead."

Peter's mouth had gone very dry. Sylas's plan to cause pain was all ready becoming real, for Peter's heart was thumping unevenly in his chest and a dull ache spread throughout his temples, causing him to wince.

Ilena sighed in exasperation and returned to the stool. Her hands wrapped behind her back, attempting to tie a bow that sat on her waist. She fiddled with it for a few minutes, then, with a sharp cry, yanked the ribbon right off the dress. It tore, leaving a patch of her skin on her back exposed. She didn't seem to care.

"Do you need help?" Peter asked a few moments later. She never lost control like that.

"No," she said at once, but changed her mind a split-second later and nodded. "Yes. Take this."

Confused, Peter took the hem of her dress in his hands. She began rapidly tearing at the rest of it, ripping one of the sleeves off, yanking free one of the many layers of the skirt and, finally, tearing the bottom off until it reached just below her knees. Within seconds the once-beautiful dress hung in tatters.

Peter had to admit it looked more Ilena-like.

"What are you doing?" he asked, catching her hand before she could continue her handy-work on her veil.

"You said I looked beautiful. Well, I'm changing that. Like I said, I will not look beautiful for him. He wants a wedding? Then he can have one with a hideous bride." She actually smiled. "It makes me feel better."

Working her logic through, Peter moved her hand and took the veil himself. He hesitated for only a moment before shredding the gorgeous mesh. When he was done the veil sloped at a steep angle.

"Now how do I look?" Ilena said, whirling around to offer him a view.

The dress was beyond repair. The veil was destroyed. She looked like someone who had gotten on the wrong side of a very angry cat.

"You look amazing," Peter told her. She frowned. "In the most revolting way."

The frown disappeared.

"Perfect."

* * *

The rabble quieted the instant Aslan appeared. Avellas of all shapes, sizes, races, and colors bowed respectfully. There must have been two dozen of them.

Susan and Maria slid off Aslan's back, feeling multiple pairs of eyes on them. They were both tired and sore, having spent the better part of the night racing about, trying to wake as many mythical beings as they could. Now, as they looked around, they recognized a few faces, including: Father Christmas, the River Guardian, Quinn, and Aryanna. Those who had been stirred by Aslan smiled at the queens.

"All hail, Aslan!" a man's voice suddenly cried and the entire congregation roared its approval.

Aslan inclined his head good-naturedly. When silence fell, he spoke. "You all know why we are here. We find ourselves on the brink of war. He has broken free and is quickly amassing power."

No one needed to ask who 'he' was.

"Avellas, he is growing stronger by the moment. There is little, precious time we have left to stop him. We must move with haste. The first of your kind, Ilena, is currently his prisoner. She is due to be wed to him in less than an hour's time."

Outraged cries shook the air. Aryanna's face was heated.

"We cannot let his happen. If their marriage comes to pass he will have a near-constant source of energy to fuel him for centuries to come. Ilena's spirit is already fading. We must fight. The time is now."

It was unbelievable. Usually during war-rallies such as this, there was always a small group who would outcry the decision made. Every during Peter's speeches. The price of war was a high one. However, when Aslan decreed they would be going into battle, the only thing Susan witnessed was complete and total agreement. Everywhere heads nodded, eyes gleamed and figures stood tall, ready. She had to catch her breath.

"And now, we must go. Prepare yourselves, little ones. Be strong."

The Avellas, Susan and Maria let out a cheer.

"Dear ones," Aslan addressed them, "I must ask you to climb on my back a final time."

They situated themselves on him. Avellas faded all around them until only Aslan and the women remained.

"Be strong," he repeated for them, and then they too were gone.

* * *

When their hour ended, Ilena and Peter left the room accompanied by two Cantricals. Sylas must have thought he had everything in the bag because he didn't try to restrain either of them in any way. The door to the room simply opened and they stepped out. The Cantricals had been sent to show them the way to where the wedding was being held.

The first of two very long walks to come, Peter did his best to keep his chin up and his back straight. If these truly were to be his last moments in Narnia he wanted to go out being the strong leader he was known for. Not the cowering kid he felt like.

Ilena kept a tight upper lip the entire way. She walked with pride, her strides long and purposeful. The only hint that Peter received of her true feelings was in the form of her hand, which she snuck into his about halfway to their destination.

Peter looked down at their fingers. Her knuckles were white. He squeezed, feeling a squeeze in return.

In her other hand was a bouquet. And certainly not a nice one. Continuing her rampant annihilation of anything remotely wedding-like, she had plucked the petals off of every single lily (courtesy of Sylas) so that the bouquet resembled a dead garden.

The wedding venue was anything but nice. Sylas had made it so that Ilena and Peter had to step out the doors leading inside the castle and into the dismal courtyard beyond. The weeds certainly added some charm.

If you were Sylas.

"Stop," one of their Cantrical guards commanded, holding his hand up. He and the other man stepped off to the side, lining both sides of the door. "Wait."

On the other side of the door they could hear Sylas speaking in a low voice, his exact words garbled. The sound of scurrying accompanied.

Ilena turned to Peter. Her eyes were blood-shot, staring right as face. Without sight, it unnerved him that she could be so precise. "Well…here we go. Might as well say goodbye now. This'll probably be the last time I see you."

Peter didn't know what to say.

"Will you pull my veil over? That is your job."

How could she be so nonchalant about this? How could she act like her life-all of their lives weren't being ripped apart? Why did she have to be so _calm_?

"Peter?"

Stiffly, he reached forward and grasped the veil behind her head. In one solid movement he pulled it forward, letting it fall over her face. Luckily, it was see-through and he could still see her eyes.

He missed her eyes.

"Goodbye, Peter," she said, giving his hand one final squeeze.

"Goodbye," he said, his voice hitching twice.

She turned to face the door and slid her arm around his in the customary father-daughter stance. From behind the door music swelled. It wasn't a wedding march exactly, but something very close to it.

"Soon," the Cantrical piped up. His companion's ears were pointed at the door.

Everything slowed. Time stopped. Peter's heart thundered. _Boom. Boom-boom. Boom._

Ilena suddenly faced him. Caught off guard, Peter jumped slightly when she slid up her veil and rose onto her tip-toes. She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Then the other one. It was such a light touch, he almost missed it.

He had been close to a few girls back home. None he had considered settling down with but close enough to sneak a few kisses here and there. Of all the girls he had been with, however, none sparked even half the butterflies that rapidly exploded in his stomach when Ilena's lips brushed against him.

He panicked. He couldn't let her go through with this. _He_ couldn't go through with this. He had to save her. He had to be Peter the Magnificent. He had to fight. He had to win.

The music grew louder.

"Ready," said the Cantrical, lazily motioning toward the door.

Ilena re-adjusted her veil and once more intertwined their arms.

Peter caught her with his free arm. In absolute sincerity he said, "Ilena…you really do look beautiful."

She smiled a small smile. "I love you, Peter Pevensie."

But before he could even begin to process what she had said, the doors swung open, admitting them to the courtyard. The music swelled so loud, Peter could barely hear himself think.

_What did she just say? You idiot. Why didn't you say something back? Because I was too busy trying to figure out what she said in the first place._

Though it was really his duty, Ilena guided them forward. She didn't seem to realize the distress she had caused in the boy next to her and walked forward as though nothing had happened.

By the time Peter's brain caught up with everything around them, they were halfway down the aisle. They were bordered on either side by Cantricals, who watched the proceeding with blank faces. At the front of the rows stood Caspian, Edmund and Lucy. Caspian, though worried for his friends, looked much more at ease with his daughter in his arms. All three of them watched sadly as Peter and Ilena approached.

Ahead of them, Sylas stood at a make-shift alter. At the very limit of his creativity he had designed a simple arch that Ilena would walk through, composed of black metal twisted and morphed into a crude U-shape.

As Ilena drew closer, a livid expression crossed Sylas's face. He had underestimated her zeal at trying to anger him. The ragged dress she wore was a physical defiance against him. Her last one. He composed his features a second later, a snarky grin slipping into place.

The 'wedding march' was terrible. It droned loudly and off-key. And…was it Peter's imagination or was it faster than a normal march? They were much too close to the end of the aisle. They had only just begun!

He was running out of time.

Ilena clutched to his arm tightly. In-between all the noise around them, Peter realized he could hear her singing softly to herself. He didn't understand the words-it must have been in ancient Narnian. But he got the message. It was a lament. The last song she would ever sing.

Had he been anywhere else he would not have been able to hear it, it was so quiet.

What little remains of his heart he had shattered.

This could not be happening. This wasn't real. To use his sister's favorite phrase: impossible. Not logical. False. Fake. A lie.

But it was. It was really happening.

Time took off. Suddenly, they were at the altar. Sylas maniacally grinned down at Peter, his crazed expression doing nothing to stifle Peter's nerves.

"Hand her over," Sylas said, waiting for Peter to take his arm away from Ilena's.

When Peter didn't, Ilena said, "Peter," in such a way that he knew it was a warning. Let go now or risk the unthinkable. This was it. The moment he had to let go. Not just of her arm, but of everything. His time in Narnia. His title as king. His hope of ever seeing her again.

Peter applied pressure to her wrist briefly. Telling her he was sorry. Sorry he couldn't do anything.

If there was one thing Peter hated it was feeling like he was out of control. And this moment definitely fell into that category.

Painstakingly-slow, Peter let go of Ilena's arm. His own dropped to his side in defeat and he missed the feeling of her body against his.

"Now, off to the side if you please," Sylas said, curving his way into Peter's former spot. Ilena visibly recoiled at his touch, but didn't pull out of his grasp. They stood across from one another, their arms coiled together, the same bloody bind connecting them, cutting across their skins.

Again, it took Ilena's voice to get Peter to move. He took his spot off to the side, a fire roaring in his veins. His head hurt. His chest throbbed.

"Right then, my beloved," Sylas said sweetly to Ilena. "Seeing as how we are on a bit of a time schedule right now, I will be the one uniting us. Simply say yes to everything I ask you and your little friend will be home in no time."

He cleared his throat. "I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife, etcetera, and etcetera. Do you, Ilena, Keeper of Nature, Balance and Good Health take me, Sylas, Keeper of Emotion and Thought to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

No one breathed. They all knew the answer coming, and yet every person in the room froze, waiting. The pain in Peter's chest spread to the rest of his body. He wanted to scream. Yell. Cry.

Finally, in the strongest voice she could muster, Ilena answered.

"I do."

The stripes linking the two Avellas blazed red-hot. A white glow beginning at their fingertips rampantly consumed their bodies. Peter covered his eyes with his hand. When he could look again, the stripes were now black, shiny burns, stretching from Sylas's forearm to Ilena's.

There was no turning back. No second chances. No do-overs.

It was done.

**I'd just like to thank Queen Lani Kaulitz the Hyper for being my 100th review! Major love being sent your way.**


	27. The Snake Strikes

**CHAPTER 27 – The Snake Strikes**

"Wonderful!" Sylas said gleefully. "And now," he went on, his tone turning malicious, "time to kiss my lovely bride. Come here, my sweet."

_Thwack!_

Peter bit his tongue trying not to laugh. Behind him he heard a sharp intake of breath and a snort that was easily identifiable as Edmund's.

Clutching the spot where Ilena had slapped him, Sylas turned robotically to face her, fire smoldering in his eyes. Even under his intense gaze, Ilena stood tall, her back stiff.  
"Kiss me, Snake," she growled, "and I will unleash everything under Aslan upon you."

Sylas's reply came in the form of his hand jumping to her throat, his thumb pressing hard against her windpipe. The action caught Peter by surprise and he jumped. Sylas said, "Do not test me, darling. I am not a merciful man." As if to prove this, his grip on her tightened.

Ilena's face steadily darkened. She didn't try to fight her way to freedom. Her eyes rolled in her head.

"Stop it!" Lucy yelled. "You're killing her!"

A cold chuckle and then Sylas said, "Do you honestly believe I care if she dies?" He surveyed the Avella beneath him, her head sliding down. "However, I do suppose she might be worth something alive." And with that he let go.

Ilena collapsed to the ground. The hacking coughs that made her chest heave seemed to originate deep inside her, and Peter cringed at the sound. Her nearly-lifeless form shuddered violently.

Eventually she stopped and managed to look up at her attacker. A steely determination crossed her features. Hoarsely, she said, "I have fulfilled my end of the bargain," and lifted her arm, showcasing her burns. "It's your turn. Send them home. Now."

Sylas considered for a moment. His and Peter's eyes locked and a crooked smile lifted the corner of his cheek. "I would," he said slowly, ignoring Ilena's murderous face, "but there is still something I need from you."

Ilena got to her feet, holding her hand out to stop Peter from helping her. "There is nothing I have left. You have taken it all from me." She crossed her arms.

"Ah, but there is. If you would please, hold out your arm."

Hearing something in his words that the rest of them did not, Ilena took a step back, her mouth opening wordlessly. "That wasn't part of the agreement. You have no right."

"Again, you all seem to be under the impression that I care if it's right or not. Hold out your arm."

"And again," Ilena spat, "you seem to be under the impression that I will let you touch me."

A ripple passed between them and abruptly Sylas was at her side. "If not with your permission," he said, and their powers, which had been drawn forth from nothing, without warning clashed against one another with a bang, "then by force."

The scream that erupted from Ilena's throat the instant Sylas gained dominance over her and shoved his thumb against one of her burns awoke something in Peter. He leapt from where he was standing, no plan guiding him. His body seemed to be working exclusively of his head.

"Not so fast, peasant," Sylas said, easily sending Peter sprawling into the dirt without lifting a finger. Peter rolled around against the dead grass, fighting the control that sped through him from head to toe. After several long minutes, he fell still.

Peter's ears didn't seem to be working properly. Vaguely, he could hear an identical roar of his own come from Edmund, and a shriek that came from Lucy. Then, Caspian's heavily accented voice. But they were all just background noise. Nothing compared to what held his attention.

In between her screams, Ilena called his name pitifully, "Peter. Peter." Whatever Sylas was doing, he seemed to have drained any fight left in her. Like a wilted flower, she swayed in his grasp. Tears poured down her cheeks. The only indication she was still battling against Sylas was in her arm, which clutched her stomach tightly, a thin glow colliding again and again with the red, raw energy flowing out of her captor.

"Ilena," Peter heard himself say. He rolled over onto his belly and forced himself high enough to catch sight of her. The liquid pouring down her face stopped his breath short.

Ilena didn't cry.

"Yes, yes," Sylas said, closing his eyes. Ilena's powers continued to flow into him, despite her attempts to create a barrier between them.

"Peter. Peter, help," Ilena begged, her own eyes screwed shut in pain. Her tears disappeared into her hair.

What happened next could only be described as pure chaos.

Peter fumbled up, his instinct guiding him. Some terrible anger had overtaken him. Anger, and worry. He had to get to her. He had to. If only he could make his legs move faster. If only-

Something smashed into his back, tackling him. Hands roped themselves around his throat, holing his head in a very awkward position. A large weight settled on his back-someone was sitting on him. A Cantrical had attacked him, sensing what the High King was about to do.

Peter's mind raced, trying to figure out the quickest way he could get loose. The man atop him easily weighed twice as much as him. Perhaps more. He didn't smell so good, either.

"Arrggghhh!" came a yell, and Edmund slammed into the Cantrical, knocking him off Peter. The two grappled, rolling around madly. If the man weighed twice as much as Peter, he had to be at least three times the size of Edmund, who hadn't quite finished going through puberty yet.

"Go, Peter!" Edmund told his brother, using every dirty trick he had seen Ilena use during her and Peter's sparring. His lack of sword certainly made things more difficult.

Peter nodded numbly, knowing he had to let his brother handle the man. Only Peter could help Ilena now. Though, he didn't know how just yet. Sprinting in the opposite direction, Peter did the only thing he could think of.

Foolishly, he jumped Ilena like the Cantrical had him, the force enough to pull her from Sylas, who had been so absorbed in drinking in Ilena's energy, he hadn't heard the Pevensie approaching until it was too late.

The instant she was free of Sylas, Ilena's screams faltered, the silence deafening. Her body was still shaking, her lips forming Peter's name over and over again. She clung to him, whimpering.

"Don't," she sobbed, "not again. Not again."

Sylas, on the other hand, wasn't pleased that his connection had been severed. "Boy!" he roared, flexing his hands into two fists. "Do not touch her! She is mine! Mine!"

This time it was Ilena who shoved them both out of the way as Sylas brought both hands down. Lightning struck the spot she and Peter had been lying in, scorching the ground with a sizzle.

Ilena regained her grip. Through red, puffy eyes, she said, "He's taken some of my powers, Peter," pushing them in the other direction as a second lightning bolt shot down at them. "Move!"

When a third lightning bolt came at them, Ilena defiantly stood up over Peter and clapped her hands together, absorbing the impact directly into her body. "Do not try to best me with my own powers, Snake!" she snarled at Sylas, sending her own blast back at him.

Sylas caught the attack the same way she had and Ilena's words floated into Peter's mind. _Never copy an opponent's move. It is far too predictable, and a trademark of any beginning warrior._

…maybe her lessons had been merit-based.

When the light left him, Sylas cackled madly. Above them, the sky turned dark and bursts of lightning lit the sky. "You've been holding out on me!" he said, waving his finger at her like an adult would to a small child. "So much power. I've barely begun to scratch the surface. So much energy and I didn't even know."

Ilena's burns along her arms were shiny hot-red, like a brand. The wind whipped the bottom of her dress around. Her hair crackled.

All-in-all, Peter thought she might very well be the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to Aslan that she was on his side.

"Honey, I do believe I can feel your emotions carrying you away," Sylas said. "Feel the pulse of the hatred. The anger. It's wonderful. I can feel you accepting the power boiling inside of you. Use it. Kill me."

Ilena backed down at once. "Never."

Sylas rolled his eyes. "But it takes nothing. Nothing. Just-"

Something hit the back of Peter's head. Rubbing the spot, he turned around and realized Edmund and the Cantrical were still duking it out, Edmund looking a little worse for wear. Caspian, likewise, had engaged a Cantrical man. Ava was wrapped securely in Lucy's arms, who stood in the center of the rest of Sylas's army, nervously glancing around. Unless she tried to get to Ilena or Peter or anyone else who attempted to stop Sylas, she was safe.

"-a little _control_."

At the word control, Peter's eyesight shut down. Darkness swept him up, stopping him in his tracks. He was blind. He panicked.

Is this what it felt like to Ilena? Did she too feel like she was trapped in a void with no way out?

"Enough!"

Peter's sight roared back to life, light blinding him. He winced, flinching away, his hands flying up to protect his eyes. His blessed, incredible eyes that could see.

Ilena held her arms aloft. Twenty feet away, Sylas was picking himself up, laughing like there was no tomorrow.

"You see?" he asked, gesturing toward Ilena. "That is the power you possess. That is the gift Aslan bestowed to you. He made you strong. You have yet to realize just how strong. You…you could cause mass floods, huge earthquakes, be responsible for millions of deaths of people whose miserable lives do not deserve to exist. You could change the world. Start anew. Why don't you see that?"

"Because I still believe in Aslan!" Ilena roared, another wave of energy shooting at him.

But Sylas had been expecting this one. He caught the ball of energy easily and stroked it lovingly. Out of the blue, he shot it back and it hit Ilena full-on. She flew over Peter's head and hit the wall of Cair Paravel with a sickening thud that made Peter's heart stop. Ignoring the blinding light, he looked up at her. She slid down the length of the wall, red following her.

Blood. Her blood.

Peter nearly lost everything in his stomach.

As her head dropped forward, falling to her knees, Sylas clapped his hands together, ridding them of the grime that had crusted into the seams of his skin. "Still not strong enough to defeat me, however. How sad."

Edmund let out a sharp cry. The Cantrical had pounded his fist into the side of his face. The same side that had been hit when Sylas had ambushed him in the cell. Legs wobbling, he stumbled around, still trying to defend himself.

Peter couldn't take anymore. Zipping past his brother, he brought both hands down on the Cantrical's head. The man slumped unconscious.

"Thanks," Edmund said, nodding to his brother.

Ilena moaned. Coming to, she sat up slowly, her hand feeling the back of her head. It came back glistening. She swallowed and winced. The liquid had started to drench into her clothes, steadily turning the white dress scarlet. She waited for her head to stop spinning and struggled to her feet.

"Good shot," she told Sylas, leaning on the wall for support.

"That color looks good on you," Sylas commented.

Suddenly, stumps exploded from the ground, just like Peter's practice session forever ago. Sylas, who had not been expected it, got hit twice, once in the back of the thigh (as he had tried to step back) and once in the groin (when he had staggered forward a second later). He groaned loudly.

Peter sucked in some air, remembering the pain of when it had happened to him. If it had been anyone else but Sylas…he might have felt bad.

A third stump erupted, hitting the Avella in the face. He cursed loudly as blood gushed down from his nose.

"Thanks, but I think I like it better on you," Ilena said, shooting a lightning blast at him, sending him sailing backward a second time. Her own blood had now completely seeped into the bodice of her dress.

She didn't seem too bothered by this, for she didn't try to heal herself.

"Do we need a respite?" she asked in a mocking tone.

Sylas's pupils shrank and Ilena screamed, her hands clutching her head. "I don't know. Do we?"

"Get out of my head!" Ilena said, flinging her hands down to the ground. Instantly, light spread out from her fingertips, twisting over the landscape. Roots burst through the dirt, wrapping around Sylas, binding his hands together.

"Fine."

Edmund rounded on Peter, his fist colliding with his older brother's neck. A sharp gasp flew from Peter's lip. And then instinct took over. Instinct and something else.

Peter had about a split second to recognize Sylas's influence over his actions before he began pounding against Edmund. Some tiny part in the back of his brain knew that what he was doing was wrong. But he couldn't fight it. He no longer directed his movements. Or his thinking.

With both brothers fighting to the death against one another, completely at his mercy, Sylas said, "How about their heads?"

The roots withdrew.

"Now there's a good girl! Come over here and let me finish and I will spare their lives."

"You have to anyway," Ilena reminded him. "You gave your word you wouldn't hurt them."

"But I'm not hurting them. They are hurting themselves." Sylas beckoned her to him once more. "Come. We haven't got all day. Unless…you want to watch them kill each other."

Ilena walked to him, holding her arm out. "First," she said, pulling away when Sylas made to grab her, "return them to normal."

Sylas sighed and a moment later, Edmund and Peter froze, horror dawning on their faces as they realized what they had been doing. "There."

Peter quickly saw what was about to happen between the two Avellas and cried, "No!"

But it was too late. Sylas had clamped down on Ilena's burn a second time, and that same scream sent chills down his spine. And not the good kind.

From somewhere behind him, a battle yell sounded.

"For Narnia!"

All three Pevensies, Ava, Sylas, the Cantricals, and Caspian (who had finally killed his opponent) looked back to see over two dozen men and women streaking across the grounds, headed straight for the wedding 'chapel'. They came, all different colors and sizes, a resounding roar uniting them as they charged.

"Avellas!" Caspian gasped, dumbfounded.

It was truly a sight to behold. Apart from Aslan, no living creature in Narnia had gazed upon all twenty-five Avellas at once. Some people had come across one in their lifetime. Two, if they were lucky. Never all twenty-five.

They attacked. A man with red hair and green eyes pulled a bow and arrow out of thin air, letting it fly. The arrow struck a Cantrical squarely in the heart and the man fell. A bronze-skinned woman let out a shrill holler and from the sky descended hundreds of griffons. Their talons tore into the Cantricals. A boy streaked across the ground and Cantrical after Cantrical fell asleep at his feet. A rather large man with brown, unruly hair followed the boy, hitting their fallen enemies with a nasty-looking mace.

Sylas, realizing he only had a few moments to finish the job, doubled the speed at which he consumed Ilena's powers. It wasn't nearly as pleasurable because he couldn't feel every tiny moan and wince that escaped her as he stripped her of her energy. But it would have to do.

In the midst of the warriors streaming toward him, Peter caught sight of his sister Susan and Maria. Both were covered from head to toe in armor, Susan stringing an arrow and Maria swinging a sword. Although his sister had fought many times in the past, Peter still felt the familiar pang of worry.

_She can take care of herself,_ he thought, forcing himself to accept her fighting.

Sylas waved his free hand toward Cair Paravel and the main doors blasted apart. Cantricals ascended from within, meeting the Avellas with a crash.

After several minutes of struggle, Peter had to give Sylas credit where it was due. Whatever he had done to make the Cantricals become unglued had worked. A little too well. They fought with vigor, obviously not caring if they lived or died.

All of Ilena's words came soaring back to Peter. She had been right. About everything.

Ilena.

"Ed!" Peter roared over the sound of bodies flying. He ducked a misguided swing by a Cantrical woman and, though he felt terrible about doing it, kicked her hard in the stomach, away from him. He moved his way through the crowd, engaging enemy after enemy. They seemed to keep coming. "Edmund!"

"What?" Edmund sounded annoyed that Peter had pulled him from his scuffle.

"Find Lucy. Get her out of here."

"Where is she?" Edmund pushed Peter's head down as a sword flew over him, cutting the air he had just occupied. Great. Now they had swords. The two brothers worked together to take the attacker down.

"I don't know," Peter admitted, handing Edmund the man's fallen sword. They both knew full-well there was a high chance he would need it. "Just find her."

"Where are you going?" Edmund asked, watching as Peter sprinted toward the altar. Peter didn't answer. Grumbling, Edmund pushed and shoved his way forward, eventually coming in contact with a griffon, who offered to fly him up to see Lucy better. He said yes right away.

Meanwhile, Peter ducked and rolled his way forward, awed. The Avellas, for as powerful as they were, could barely hold their own against Sylas's army. _Perhaps,_ Peter thought, _Sylas used his powers to make them stronger. If he can sever eyesight, who knows what else he can do?_

Ilena was now flattened against the ground, her eyes spinning in her head. Peter took one look at her and attacked Sylas like a madman.

Sylas, who had been watching the carnage before him with interest, was not caught off guard like before and his blast of energy hit Peter like a ton of bricks, knocking him back.

"Ilena!" Peter yelled, wishing she could hear him. "Ilena!"

"You can't help her. She is mine, now."

"Ilena!"

Sylas dragged Ilena to Peter and thrust her face into his. Peter could see his reflection in her tears. "There is nothing you can do, peasant. No one can stop me now. Not with the powers of two Avellas. No one!"

A roar made Sylas eat his words.

**I is now a college stoodent. xD Updates probably won't be as frequent because I'm getting used to school. Oh, and I hate this chapter. **


	28. The Deep Magic

**CHAPTER 28 – The Deep Magic**

"Aslan!" Lucy squealed above the noise of bodies collapsing to the ground.

Edmund, who had been swerving and dodging through the air on the griffon, desperately trying to find her, swooped down and snatched her up immediately. He received a very dirty look from her, but refused to let her off.

The Cantricals all froze, mimicking their master's rigid form. The Avellas swiftly cut down their stationary opponents. Susan struck three in a row, doing her best to pay no heed to each warrior that died at her hand.

At the altar, Sylas released his hold on Ilena. She hit the ground hard and Peter dove to her at once, pulling her into his arms and away. Sylas didn't seem to notice-his entire focus was on the magnificent lion, who was slowly padding his way toward them.

"Aslan," Ilena said in a tiny voice, not fighting the iron hold Peter had around her.

With each step Aslan took, the resolve of those fighting on his side strengthened and they doubled their efforts. Though Ilena had been given the gift of nature, even she could not measure up to the brilliant sunshine that seemed to emit from the Great Lion. He was like summer's warm breeze, smelling of flowers and other sweet things.

For the first time since Ilena had shown him the sunrise, Peter truly smiled. With Aslan, they were unstoppable. With Aslan, they would win.

"Peter," Aslan said, nearing the altar. The Cantricals' eyes followed him, completely oblivious to the Avellas beating them back. "Let her go."

Peter glanced down at Ilena and saw that she was gently trying to ease her way free. He didn't want to do it, but he knew Aslan would only ask such a thing of him if he had a good reason. Reluctantly, Peter allowed her to climb out of his arms and up onto shaky legs.

"You!" Sylas suddenly said, drawing attention to himself. His eyes were wide and blood-shot. "It is too late! You cannot stop me! I hold the power of two Avellas. Two!"

"Gee," said Ilena sarcastically, "I wonder how many Avellas we have on our side?"

All it took was one look behind her to realize they were twenty-five strong, plus the Pevensies, plus Caspian and Maria, plus Aslan himself. Only a fool would think he could win against such odds. Unfortunately, Sylas was that fool.

"But you forget," he said to Ilena, "the ancient magic."

"Do not lecture me on the ancient magic, Snake," Ilena growled. "Unlike you, I was there the day it was written."

"Then you'll remember that all battles between two opposing sides-no, not sides, people-must be finished between those two alone. And this battle is no longer between Aslan and me. It is between you and I."

Ilena nodded. She understood.

Peter, however, didn't. "Wait. What is going on?"

Ilena sighed and answered, "As you remember, Peter, during your war against the White Witch, it was Edmund alone who could battle her. The ancient magic states that when enemies meet, only if one of them falls can the fight turn to another. Meaning, the White Witch wounded your brother almost to the point of death. It was only because he no longer could fight that you and Aslan were able to take his place and end her reign.

"The same holds true for Caspian. You fought Miraz, but something inside of you prompted you to let Caspian end the duel. Caspian refused to kill him, despite the fact that he had the upper hand, and so ended their quarrel with one another, allowing another to step in. The man who murdered Miraz.

"That is how it works. Until a life is taken or spared between the two prominent figures of which the battle is based around, no one else can step in to help."

"And you have to fight him?"

Ilena nodded. "He is my opposing side. He always has been. Ever since…" She fell short, but Peter knew what she was going to say. _Ever since he betrayed me._

"But you're weak! He'll kill you."

Here, Aslan spoke up. "She is much stronger than you give her credit for, Peter."

Peter's face flushed slightly. He hadn't meant to sound like he didn't believe in her. He just couldn't see how she could survive a one-on-one fight with Sylas. Not after everything she'd been through.

"I'll be fine, Peter," Ilena said. "I promise. There is more to me than meets the eye. He doesn't have all my powers. Not yet."

"Yet," agreed Sylas.

"But-"

"Peter."

How could people do this? How could they put their faith in a single person and believe against all odds that they would be ok? Peter certainly couldn't do it. Call it the protective older brother side of him, call it his kingly need to take care of everyone, it didn't matter. He wasn't used to placing the fate of everything in someone else. He preferred to have it all up to him. That way, if he failed…

"I am proud of you, little one," Aslan said, bowing to Ilena. "Never forget that." He let out a low, easy breath on her, sending her hair flying. The blood draining from the back of her head stopped, and the burns that raced up her arm faded away.

"Thank you," Ilena said.

Peter bit his lip and pulled her to him, placing his chin atop her head, which molded perfectly against the crick of his neck. Gently, he kissed her on the forehead. "I…" He wanted to tell her he loved her as well, but the words refused to come out. They were words people told one another before they died.

He wouldn't let her die.

Finally, he said instead, "I am proud of you, too."

Suddenly, they were blasted apart by a beam of light. Peter felt the charge of electricity brush against him, but then it was gone, leaving only a mere tingle on his fingertips. He looked up from where he was slammed into the ground and saw Ilena cart wheeling through the air. She landed about fifteen meters to his left.

Aslan had done more than heal her outward cuts and bruises. He'd healed her fatigue, exhaustion and hopelessness as well.

"Revolting," Sylas commented, picking some imaginary lint off his cloak. He hadn't changed for the wedding. "Can we please get this over with? I have places to be, people to kill."

Ilena responded by sending a mini cyclone at him, quickly followed by a legion of pointy rocks. He deflected them and sent his own rock garden back. Ilena waved them away.

It was going to be a long, arduous battle if Sylas could match Ilena swing for swing.

"Peter," Aslan said. He swung his head around, motioning toward the Cantricals, who had at last come to and were re-engaging the Avellas. In the time it had taken for Ilena to explain everything and for her and Sylas to begin, the Avellas had hacked down the first and second wave of Cantrical warriors still rushing out the castle doors. Still, more were coming. "Your help is needed elsewhere."

He really wanted to stay and watch Ilena, make sure she was ok, but he realized why Aslan wanted him to go. Watching would soon turn into flying up and trying to help. It was just Peter's nature to leap in and join. Unfortunately, Ilena and Sylas's war was one he couldn't.

He nodded. "Aslan?" he asked before running to join Caspian, who was taking on three men at once. The Lion raised his head. "Honestly…will she be ok?"

"I know how you care for her, Peter. You must trust that she can do this."

It wasn't exactly the answer Peter wanted, but he nevertheless let it drop. In no time at all, he was at Caspian's side, right in the heart of the mêlée. Caspian looked relieved to see the older Pevensie.

"It is about time!" Caspian exclaimed. Somehow, he had gotten hold of a sword and was taking down as many red-heads as he could.

"I was a little busy," Peter said, seizing his own sword from a man when he wasn't looking. Like every other time he had been engaged in fighting, Peter felt the familiar sensation of unease overtake him. He didn't enjoy killing.

But, as a king, it was something he had to do to protect his country.

They plowed their way through men, women and children (as wrong as it felt). These Cantricals weren't like Lily. She had been freed from Sylas when she still had the chance. These people were beyond saving. In a way, Caspian and Peter were doing them a favor. Both could say that dying versus being under Sylas's control was definitely the less painful of the two options.

At one point, the pair met up with Susan, whose wrist had been slashed by a dagger. Rage filled Peter from head to toe and he nearly lost his sword, he was swinging so hard. But then Ilena's teachings reminded him. _Keep your head. Learn to control your emotions._

Control. He could do that.

Around them, the sky churned madly. Gales hit the fighters from all angles and rain poured down from the heavens in bucket loads. Fog layered the grounds. Occasionally, Peter could see a body shoot over his head, back toward the castle, carried by an invisible force. Sometimes it was Ilena, sometimes Sylas. It was impossible to tell which one was winning.

* * *

Far away from the battle, tucked neatly in a tree, Lucy let out an enraged noise as Edmund hopped down from their perch. "Where are you going?" she asked as her brother streaked away. Above him, the griffon that had carried them to safety flew back to the castle.

"To help. Take care of Ava!" he yelled back at her before he was swallowed up in the fog that coated the battlefield. It had come out of nowhere.

Ava gave a little squeak in her arms and Lucy sighed. She was always the one that had to stay behind. The one that was forbidden from joining in the fight. The one that was given the easiest task.

Sometimes she hated being the youngest.

"It's all right," Lucy said, rocking the baby back and forth. Ava's dark eyes watched Lucy with fascination. "I promise. It's all right."

Ava began to cry.

"No, don't do that!" She scrambled to figure out how to get her to stop. "How about…I tell you a story? A story about Aslan."

Back in the fog, Edmund's thoughts were still on his younger sister. He didn't want to leave her; he knew how she hated being left out. But between the two of them, he was the better fighter and, although he didn't want to leave Ava, he needed to help Peter, Caspian, Susan and Maria. He made it about ten feet before he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Ehmun!"

There was only person it could be.

Whirling around, he felt shock electrocute him as Lily descended from a tree not too far from Lucy's. Her hair and face had been washed, and she looked like a completely different person without all the grime layered over her.

"Lily?"

"Backup!" she said excitedly, yanking on his arm.

"Back up?"

"No, backup!" And with that, from the forest came hundreds of Narnian warriors. Fauns, centaurs, minotaurs, large cats and wolves all clambered forward, yelling. A centaur in front was holding a banner high-a banner with Aslan's symbol. It fluttered in the breeze. The warriors flew around Edmund and Lily, headed straight for the Cantricals.

It took several minutes for Edmund to process what was happening. When he did, he turned to the girl next to him and said, "How?"

Lily shrugged. "Aslan."

She smiled in such a way, Edmund wondered what-exactly-the Lion had done to change her so. The Lily he knew, though getting better with each passing day, was still savage. She knew nothing of personal hygiene or proper speech, for that matter!

"Ehmun," she whispered, flinging her arms around him in a hug.

Awkwardly, he patted her on the back, feeling her bones through her skin. She had gained some weight in the cell. Just not enough.

"Lily, you have to leave. The Avellas will think you're one of them," and he pointed at a Cantrical woman. "They'll kill you."

Lily shook her head. "Aslan. Protect. No hurt."

Edmund doubted that, but before he could say anything she had rushed straight into the conflict, whooping loudly. He followed her, still bewildered at this bizarre turn of fate.

He couldn't deny that a piece of him was more than happy to see her.

* * *

"Ugh!" Ilena groaned, hitting the tree roughly. Tree branches snapped beneath her and she slid down the trunk. A ripping noise met her ears and she felt the bottom hem of her dress tear upward.

"Oh, darling," Sylas called, approaching her at inhuman speed. "By the way, your dress looks terrible like that. Why did you feel the need to destroy it? I toiled away on that for many, many hours with my Cantrical women. You insult me by bleeding into it."

"Hmm," Ilena said, "I wonder whose fault that is." She raised her hands and Sylas had to duck to avoid being hit by a flying tree, which she had flung at his head, roots and all.

He chuckled. "Aslan was right. You are much stronger than I had thought. Even after taking your powers _twice_, you still have enough left to fight. Very impressive, indeed. Still not enough, however."

Lightning struck her tree and Ilena had to jump out of the way to avoid being electrocuted. Her hair stood straight-on end. "We'll see about that," she said, shooting a blast of fire at him.

They were both tiring. They would never admit it, but it was true. They were so evenly matched, what with Sylas having some of her powers and Ilena being blessed with strength from Aslan, that neither could gain the advantage.

Sylas had lost his patience about four minutes into it and the amused smile he usually wore had dissolved into a crazed grimace that would have frightened Lucy had she been there. He lashed out without stopping, using every attack in his arsenal. Ilena had managed to nick him a few times and blood freely gushed out of the burns on his arm and a slit on his calve.

Ilena's whole body shook, but she refused to back down. She pushed through the pain that swept through her body, unleashing all that she possessed on him. Every once in awhile a ghost shock would fly down her arm where Sylas had touched her and she would falter, allowing him momentary dominance over her. But then she would hop right back into it, growling. She also retained a few injuries, but nothing so bad as her exhaustion.

"What's wrong? Afraid you'll lose to a girl?" Ilena dared. Some courage had come about in her since seeing Aslan and it pushed her forward, trying to egg him on.

"Is that what you are? I must have been mistaken."

Ilena smirked. He was rising to her bait. The very thing she had explicitly told Peter not to do. Going on, she feigned surprise. "So you married a man, then? I didn't know you were like that, Sylas. You should have told me."

Sylas's face turned a nasty shade of purple and he hurled three beams of light at her, quickly followed by a huge rock. Apart from Aslan's strength, the Lion had also given Ilena an impregnable wall to hide her mind behind, making Sylas's particular power useless. He couldn't cause her the pain he so desperately wanted to.

He'd have to settle for crushing her physically.

"Strong talk," he said, watching as she evaded his attack. "But I have one last trick up my sleeve. One you cannot match."

Ilena gazed at him, realization hitting her.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Suddenly, a blast shook the area. Sylas exploded into black dust, funneling higher and higher into the air. His human form faded away, replaced by the primitive and awesome energy that made up his being. A swirling mass of ash, red slits opened as his eyes, watching gleefully as Ilena took in the threat before her.

"Avella," she whispered. "The Sprit."

Sylas had done the impossible. He had discarded his body that kept him tied to the natural world and opted for his Avella form-a form derived purely from power; his true spirit form-the one Aslan had created him in. The air hummed loudly in response to him. He cackled.

"How will you defeat me now?"

Without a body, Sylas's powers increased ten-fold. He didn't have to hold some of his life-force back to keep himself anchored to Narnia. However, as with anything else in the world, giving up something for more power had its drawbacks.

And Ilena knew exactly what his was.

Horrified, she said, "You do realize what happens if-"

"I lose?" He cackled again. The wind picked up. "I can assure you, I will not lose." And a ball of sizzling power flew at her.

Ilena sped out of the way, her heart hammering in her chest. This was going to be a lot harder now. But not impossible.

"Well, I can tell you you won't win!" Bringing her hands up, she met his next beam with one of her own. The two blasts collided in the sky, exploding on contact. Both Avellas held their ground, as the two very different streams struggled for supremacy.

Ilena's arms began to shake after about ten minutes. The sheer power coming out of both of them was zapping her strength. And fast. She wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

* * *

On the battle field, screams split the air as Sylas's form took to the sky, visible even through the fog.

It was a horrifying sight. The man looked like a twister with eyes that gleamed red. Debris swirled around him, and the sun seemed to groan as it tried to remain out of his pull.

"Avella!" the Avellas said in unison. Their faces were a mixture of terror, anger, and absolute dread.

Aslan, who had joined the fight, looked up, his face setting into something indistinguishable.

Ilena, a mere speck compared to the bedlam going on around her, was trying her hardest to keep his attack at bay. Even from where he stood, poised to kill a man, Peter could see the strain on her muscles, the focus on her face.

Then, suddenly, she faltered. The last of her strength gave way and Sylas's beam hit her full-on, illuminating the sky so bright, it could be seen leagues away. After what felt like a lifetime, the light died away. Ilena was motionless against the ground, her dress black with dirt and ash.

"No!" Peter yelled, forgetting everything and running to her.

"Peter!" Aslan said. His tone wasn't sharp, but it warned him to stop.

Peter didn't listen. Every nerve in his body was on fire. The Avellas and Cantricals resumed their fight, but not without the Avellas sending out a silent prayer.

Sylas was laughing. "Such a shame. She was a worthy opponent."

He allowed Peter to fall to Ilena's side and pull her up. Hastily, Peter put his ear to Ilena's chest. He heard something that made his own heart shudder.

Silence.

**Oh, SNAP. **


	29. Never Look Back

**29 – Never Look Back**

"Ilena! Ilena!" Peter cried, shaking the girl in his arms. Her head flopped unmercifully back and forth, lifeless. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed, her skin still warm. Gripping her shoulders tightly, Peter sank toward her in defeat.

She was gone.

All at once, howls erupted from the surrounding forest-animals mourning the loss of their guardian. The sound-one giant heartbreaking wail-sent goosebumps down the spines of all who heard it. The buckets of rainwater falling from the sky soon morphed into a full-on tempest. Wind raked against the warriors and Cair Paravel shuddered.

Peter pulled Ilena to his chest, squeezing her hard, almost as if he thought it might wake her. He buried his head in her hair, tears cascading down his cheeks. The sweet smell she emitted was gone, a musty ashy scent in its place.

"Ilena," he whispered softly now, kissing her temple.

Sylas sneered down at the High King, a mouth forming to match his eyes. The sorrow Ilena's death had caused everyone (for the Avellas had matched the howls with sobs of their own) had boosted his power. He hungrily fed off their anguish, his new form growing more solid by the minute.

"One down," he said, "twenty-five more to go." A giant clawed hand morphed from the black matter he had become and swiped down at Peter, whose back was turned away.

A roar stopped Sylas short as Aslan propelled himself between the oldest Pevensie and the Avella. Baring his teeth, the Great Lion hunched down in front of Peter and Ilena, blocking them from view.

Hearing the roar, Peter at last maneuvered his head around and caught sight of Sylas's reach, right before Aslan interceded. His face shining, Peter realized what had almost occurred and immediately curved his arm beneath the crook of Ilena's legs and rested her head against his chest, scampering out of the way.

If Ilena couldn't stop Sylas, Peter most certainly could not. Their last hope was Aslan.

"ARGH!" Sylas bellowed, and he sent a blast of energy toward Aslan, who bucked his head down. Upon impact, smoke filled the air, and the lion was consumed by a cloud of black.

Those fighting on Aslan's side let out sharp screeches, their eyes flashing in worry. Their concern, however, was unneeded, as when the smoke at last cleared, Aslan stood in the same position, not a single hair out of place.

OOOOO

Peter had not seen the attack. He was busy scurrying across the lawn of Cair Paravel, weaving his way around Cantricals and Avellas. Ilena bounced in his arms, and he cuddled her more protectively to him.

He refused to believe that she was truly gone. Something…something would bring her back. This was Narnia, after all. Magic. Nothing was impossible.

Gazing over Ilena, he felt a new barrage of tears threaten to fall. This time, he held them back. No. Tears meant it was real. That she was gone with no way of returning. He would not let them fall. He would not accept that.

He stumbled into Edmund, preoccupied by his thoughts. His brother, who had been hit with a sword to his exposed shoulder (he had no armor, having been abducted from the cell) groaned and his hand went to this injury. Painful or not, the blow didn't stop Edmund from looking to his brother and asking, "Where are you going?"

But Peter only said a quick apology and continued running. The sooner he got there, the better chance he had.

Knowing his brother as well as he did, Peter held no doubt that Edmund had deposited Lucy somewhere far away from the battle zone. Presumably in a tree. He wouldn't keep her on the ground. And with Ava…Lucy, for once, wouldn't have run off.

It took him about ten minutes to locate his youngest sibling. What tipped him off to her location was a high-pitched keening that could only be Ava's. Catching sight of her amidst the foliage, he sped up and slid to a halt at the base of the trunk.

"Peter!" she said when she caught sight of him. "What…what's wrong?"

Poor Lucy knew nothing of how the battle was faring. The fog surrounding the fighting restricted her from seeing anything. Something Peter was very grateful for.

"Lu, your cordial. Now."

Seeing the blood soaked into Ilena's dress, Lucy nodded and said, "Take Ava. I can't get down if I'm holding her."

Peter laid Ilena out on the grass and rapidly scaled the tree, taking the tiny bundle from Lucy's outstretched arms. He followed her down the bark, moving slowly so as not to accidently hurt Caspian's daughter. Lucy, on the other hand, moved as quickly as she could, dropping to Ilena's side. She plucked the cordial from her waist, where she always kept it, and uncorked the stopper before allowing a drop of the red liquid inside to fall to Ilena's mouth.

There was silence-apart from the howling wind-as both brother and sister watched and waited for Ilena to come to.

One minute. Then two. Then three.

Lucy's stomach did a twist. She knew nothing of Ilena's injury, but after five minutes she knew it was something that even her cordial could not heal. Facing Peter, she recognized the same emotions coursing through her on his face and knew he had come to the same conclusion.

"Sorry, Peter," she said miserably, tears collecting in her eyes.

Peter didn't hear her. His entire world seemed to have gone quiet. Robotically, he brushed some hair out of Ilena's closed eyes.

OOOOO

Back at the battle field, Edmund swung his blade out, beheading a man who had tried to attack Lily. Whatever protection Aslan had bestowed upon her kept the Avellas at bay and the rest of the Cantricals wanting to murder her. Though he was grateful for this, Edmund couldn't help but think about the fact her own kinsman were trying to harm her.

Of course, they were still under Sylas's control, and she wasn't. And Edmund would much rather the evil Cantricals die than her.

With a trill, Lily slammed into the woman before her, yanked the dagger from her hand and proceeded to cut the woman's throat. When the deed was done she bounded off the blood-soaked body and did the same to the next Cantrical to cross her path.

Lily's style was effective-she'd all ready taken down numerous Cantricals. Yet she lacked common sense in that she didn't watch her backside. It was this task that Edmund appointed to himself and he followed after her, cutting down any who tried to harm her.

Blasts shook the ground often, but Edmund was so enraptured by the fights at hand, he didn't look to see what was transpiring between Aslan and Sylas. All he could do was silently pray that each time the ground rumbled Aslan hadn't fallen.

"Ehmun!" Lily called, pushing him out of the way of an arrow that whistled uncomfortably close to his ear. Her lack of looking back aside, she was a valuable ally in that her ears seemed to pick up things his couldn't.

"Thanks," he said, stabbing a man to his right.

Slowly but surely they were pushing Sylas's army back. The rush of Cantricals expelling from the castle had finally stopped and the Avellas and the others were gaining the upper advantage.

"Duck," Susan said, nearing the two. An arrow flew from her bow, protruding from the chest of a man. She nocked a second one and sent it flying. "Where's Peter?" she asked Edmund a few seconds later. Her two brothers normally fought side by side.

"He went to find Lucy," Edmund grunted, shoving a man that had tackled him off. He trapped his sister's arm in his, locking their gazes. "His eyes were off, Susan. He didn't…he didn't look right."

Just then, the brother and sister were torn apart and forced to return to the battle. Lily had run off somewhere deep in the center of the cage of soldiers. Edmund internally cursed himself for not watching her and sped off in her footsteps.

Susan watched her brother go out of the corner of her eye; silently pleading to Aslan he would come back alive. Gathering her wits, she forged in the opposite direction, eventually finding Maria, who looked scared out of her mind.

OOOOO

"Lucy, I need you to stay here with Ava and Ilena."

Had it been under any other circumstance, Lucy would have refused. She would have protested, and fought. But this time-this one time-she couldn't. It took a single look at her brother, the most important person to her in the world, for her to understand that it was best she just accepted her role.

So that's what she did.

"Yes, Peter," she said, placing her hand on his.

Peter didn't look up. He just continued to stare down at Ilena, his eyes thick with…something. Something Lucy couldn't describe. His thoughts were far gone, hidden somewhere in the most primitive, unhinged part of his brain. After a long pause, he snapped back to the present.

"Here," he said, lowering Ava into Lucy's arms. Watching her embrace the tiny girl, Peter realized how grown up his youngest sibling had become in the last few weeks. And he had missed it. He had been too busy fighting a war, as always.

_Someday_, he thought, _I'll be able around. I just hope that day isn't too late._

"Thank you," Peter went on, nodding to Lucy. Whether two hours or a hundred years from now, he hoped she'd understand how immensely grateful he was to her for helping him in this, his toughest moment.

Lucy smiled uncertainly, her face puffy from crying. "Just make sure you come back, Peter."

"I will," he promised. Rising to his feet, he cast one final look at Ilena and then tore off across the grounds, headed straight for the fog, the sword he had stolen held high.

As with Edmund, Lucy watched him go, a lump forming in the back of her throat.

She loved Narnia. Really.

But she could do without seeing her brothers fly into battle, not knowing if they'd come back alive.

Meanwhile, Peter hurdled across the landscape, his emotions flying. If ever there was a moment he needed to rein them in, it was this. But he couldn't. Ilena's death had done something to him. He was filled with anger, rage even. And yet those negative feelings weren't what were sporadically zipping through him.

It was renewed vigor. A reason to fight. That's what pushed him on.

He wanted her death to mean something. Not in a bad way. _Not in the I'm-going-to-kill-everyone-I-see-until-I-feel-she's-been-avenged_ way. More in the _I-will-save-Narnia-so-that-those-in-the-future-will-remember-her-sacrifice_ way. It wasn't vengeance, exactly. He didn't act on hatred. He acted on duty and love. The duty and love of a king to honor a fallen comrade.

Never mind that he had loved her.

So blinded by his resolve to win, Peter blasted through two whole rows of Cantricals before he even knew he had entered the fog. One second he was saying goodbye to Lucy and feeling his heart pound in his chest, the next he was taking down a man without a thought.

"For Narnia!" he found himself yelling. His customary battle cry seemed to spark something in the warriors around him and they re-doubled their efforts once more. The sight of their High King had strengthened their confidence of victory. Peter noticed the sudden change and allowed himself a small smile.

He'd win. For her.

Both Susan and Edmund grinned at the sound of their brother. It was like old times. And in all those old times, not once had they lost.

It would be stupid to break tradition.

OOOOO

Sylas was losing and he knew it.

He was loathe to admit the fact that Aslan was, without looking winded in the least, forcing him back. Draining the last of his powers. Killing him.

No. He'd worked too hard to get to this point to lose now. So much he'd put into devising his return. He had felt certain, when he had broken free of Aslan's restraints, that this time his plan would work. That he would control Narnia.

It was entirely that idiot Ilena's fault. She just had to return to Narnia at the same time he had. She just had to align herself with the royals. She just had to make one of them fall in love with her.

Killing her had been easy. Fun, even.

But now. Her death had darkened his enemies' spirits. For many blissful moments he had felt the rush of power that came with the agony of others. Then that Peter boy had ruined it all by making his infernal trademark yell, which had lifted their emotions considerably.

The power he had achieved through Ilena's death had disappeared and then some.

Trying to conserve as much energy as he had left, Sylas very carefully and strategically hit Aslan with, what felt like anyway, the zillionth blast of red light. Aslan didn't flinch, didn't move, as it hit him, coming up completely fine when the dust and smoke had cleared.

"Enough," Aslan said, his golden eyes honing in on Sylas's. "Never again will you hurt my children. Be gone!" And he roared.

Unlike the roars before, this one echoed loudly, closing in on Sylas. He felt an incredible pull, like a magnet pulling on his metal end. He tried to evade it, to thrust himself out of its grasp. But it was too strong.

With a scream, Sylas rushed to the ground, his energy leaving him. The instant his cold eyes hit the dirt, he exploded in a large burst of smoke, which then faded away along with the fog, leaving nothing but the ringing of his voice.

After months of terrorizing, hours of inducing physical pain in those around him, and an hour of fighting, the Snake was finally gone.

The Cantricals felt the immediate swell of relief when he disappeared. Their eyes, blue as his had been in his human form, dulled, turning dingy brown. They all dropped their weapons, swaying on the spot. Many collapsed completely.

The Avellas, the Pevensies, Caspian, Maria and Lily all let out a cheer when they realized what had happened. Maria and Susan embraced tightly, glad that it was over. Lily kissed Edmund on the cheek, causing him to blush like there was no tomorrow. Caspian and Peter exchanged nods. From where she was, still crouched down on the ground next to Ilena, Lucy smiled.

_Thank you, Aslan,_ she thought. _Thank you for keeping them safe._

OOOOO

The next day, the fallen were buried. Two Avellas (excluding Ilena) had died in the battle, as well as countless Cantricals. Under Aslan's guidance, all were laid to rest beneath Cair Paravel's grounds. It seemed the most fitting place, seeing as how the Pevensies refused to return to their once-happy home and the fight for Narnia had taken place here.

Ilena's grave stood under a large oak tree. The connection to the living plants around her made the decision easy. The roots, in time, would come to hug her coffin. The grass and weeds would filter over her. Moss would probably grow on her headstone.

But that would be just the way she wanted it. Surrounded by her nature. Her namesake.

Peter kept a tight grip on his emotions as her coffin was lowered into the hole. He could hardly say he'd grown used to life without her in the last twenty-four hours. But he'd wait to mourn her. Wait until he was alone.

Beside him, tears streamed down all the women's faces. Caspian kept a solid watch on the coffin. Edmund tried to hide his sorrow, but Peter could easily see through his mask.

Narnians from all over-Caspian's kingdom and beyond-had come to pay tribute to the Avellas who had died. They had arrived by the hundreds the morning following the battle, clamoring for support from their kings and queens.

As High King, Peter had given it to them out of a sense of duty. But even he was starting to lose his nerve.

The remaining Cantricals, released from Sylas's spell, were among those present. They cried for their comrades who had died in a battle they had no idea they were fighting. Without Sylas, the people were soft spoken, kind, and in complete bafflement over what they had done. Completely opposite to how they had been only a day before.

A prayer went out. Aslan said a few words to honor those dead, and the onlookers echoed him. The sky seemed to burn, despite the thousands of stars that watched over them. Like guardians, never wavering in their constant reminder that life went on.

It wasn't until two days after the burial that Peter rose with the intent of visiting Ilena and saying everything that had bounced around in his head since her passing. The sun had not yet come up and he hastened out of his tent.

To receive all those who had come to share their prayers for those lost in battle, the royals had set up legions of tents not far from the graveyard. Here, the weary travelers could meet with them and offer condolences, even exchange tears with Susan if they wanted to.

Peter moved through the tents, hoping to go by unseen. On this morning he could not entertain. He had a task to complete. One that, should it remain undone, he'd lose his mind over. Luckily, he made it through the maze of sleeping people, centaurs, fawns, dwarves, talking animals and the like without a sound.

The walk to her tree was painful, to say the least. Each step caused his heart to throb. After a lifetime, he arrived at her grave marker. He slid down into a sitting position.

This was the moment. The moment to speak all of his emotions, thoughts. The moment to tell her everything he hadn't been able to before.

The words caught in the back of his throat.

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

He reached out and touched the tree, feeling the rough bark against his fingertips.

Finally, he fumbled out, "I'll bet this tree is as stubborn as you were." He remembered how she used to call him stubborn. He laughed, in spite of the tears still collecting in his eyes. It sounded hollow to his ears.

Searching for more words, he continued on before he could fall silent again. "You know, when I met you, the last thing I thought was going to happen was our friendship. You were pushy and rude and patronizing and had no patience. You treated me like dirt. Always put me down. I hated that smirk of yours. I used to have nightmares about it."

He sighed. "There were a lot of things I didn't like about you. But there were twice as many things I did. Your passion for Narnia. The way you pushed me to be better. The praise you would give me when I succeeded at your ridiculous training exercises. Your eyes. When you danced and sang. Watching the sunrise with you. Spending the night on top of the roof. I even grew to like that smirk. A little bit."

The wind picked up. As if she was there, answering him. Peter closed his eyes, allowing it to wash over him. It felt cleansing.

"I wish you were still here. I miss you. I miss you flipping over my bed in the middle of the night. I miss your long, philosophical monologues. I miss us sparring. I miss everything."

He fell silent again. Minutes passed. Just when he was about to get up and leave, a voice spoke behind him.

"She's not gone, Peter."

Peter didn't look up as Aslan stepped up beside him.

"She lives all around you. In the sky, in the ground, in the water. She has become a part of the very thing she loved most."

"It's not the same," Peter whispered, his eyes glued to her grave marker, a stone block that Caspian had made the same night Sylas had been vanquished. It read, simply, _Ilena_. No other explanation needed.

"No, it's not," Aslan agreed. "Still, she is here. She always will be. Her body was destroyed, but her spirit lives on in everything around you. Someday, you will see her again."

"When?" Peter asked, rubbing the tears from his cheeks and eyes and at last looking at the Great Lion. Aslan's kind eyes stared down at the High King.

"When she feels like it," Aslan said, laughing slightly. "She has always been one to do as she pleases. When she's ready, she will return to you."

Peter nodded, returning his gaze to the headstone. After ten minutes of silence, he looked around. Aslan was gone.

"When you're ready," Peter repeated. "I'll be waiting."

For another half hour he sat there wordlessly, his eyes unseeing. Memories came at him. Ilena leading him through the forest. Dancing with the nature spirits. Biting into an apple. Resting her head against his shoulder. Hugging him. Kissing him. Saying she loved him.

Fresh tears now fell, but Peter felt no embarrassment.

When the sun finally started to rise, the orange glow filtering through the leaves of the tree above him, Peter knew it was time to go. The others would be waking. Casting a final, sad look at her grave, he pushed himself to his feet. He brushed his hands across the stone, his lips forming her name. Ilena.

"When you're ready," he said a second time. He let go of the stone and started to walk away. Five feet later, he stopped and turned back. The last thing, his last words to her finally came. The one thing he'd never been able to say.

"I love you, too."

And then he returned his attention to the horizon and never looked back.


	30. Just Another Moment

**30 – Just Another Moment**

* * *

"Why leaving?" Lily's face set into a pout. Like a small child, she crossed her arms and jutted out her lower lip.

Edmund sighed, running his hand through his hair. How to explain? He sat down next to her, flushing when she took his hand. He still wasn't accustomed to the touch.

Not to say he didn't like it, though.

"My family…we don't belong here," he said slowly. "We belong in Finchley."

"Finchley?" Lily's eyebrows slanted down.

"Yes, Finchley. It's where we come from. Where I come from. It's my home." At least, that's what Edmund tried to kept telling himself. The line between Narnia and Finchley when describing home seemed to get smaller and smaller with every visit.

"Home. Here home."

The determination in her eyes, a brown Edmund decided fit her quite well, startled him. Holding the bridge of his nose, he tried to think of a way to make her understand. She was naïve to the comings and goings of the Kings and Queens of Old.

"No, this…this isn't home. Not for us."

Her face fell. Edmund inwardly remarked on her ability to understand his words. Some of the Cantricals had regained their speech ability after Sylas's downfall. Unfortunately, Lily had never been taught properly.

"Not home." Her voice went very small. "Now go home? Finchley?"

"Yes," Edmund agreed, nodding. "Now I must go home to Finchley. My time here is up. For now." He'd return to Narnia someday. He felt it in his bones.

With her free hand, Lily touched her index finger to his nose. "I miss you," she whispered.

Edmund gulped, fighting to hold back the sadness inside of him. Shaking slightly, he touched her nose and said, "I miss you, too."

OOOOO

Susan hugged Ava carefully, choking back tears. For as much as she complained about returning to Narnia she had to admit that the goodbyes were always difficult. It wasn't like she was going on vacation and would be back in no time. When she left…it would be for good.

Lowering Ava back into her crib, Susan turned to Maria and embraced her. Never could she have imagined that she would make friends with Caspian's wife. Not after everything she and Caspian had been through. But she had. And she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

"Thank you so much for everything," Maria said, clinging to the Gentle Queen. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

Susan laughed, sputtering tears. "Caspian would have helped with the birth."

This made Maria laugh as well. "No, he's too squeamish for that."

"Hey!" Caspian said, though he was grinning. It was funny that the three most important females in his life were before him exchanging sobs and hugs. It touched his heart.

"You know it's true," Maria said, finally pulling back. She rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, forgoing her queenly image for just a moment.

Caspian threw his hands up in defeat. "I will not try to argue." Then, he outstretched his hands, welcoming Susan into arms. She did so without hesitation and for the first time since their kiss they hugged. Touched.

Nothing stirred within her. Nothing but sorrow. Perhaps she had gotten over him at last.

"My wife stole what I was going to say, but I shall say it anyway. Thank you." He patted her on the back.

Susan nodded against his chest, more tears coming. "And thank you," she said. She stepped back and gazed at Caspian and Maria. "Thank you to you both."

"Whatever for?" Maria asked, genuinely confused.

"For helping my family. For being my friends."

Trailing her fingers against Ava's blanket, she readjusted it and leaned in, kissing the infant on both cheeks. Ava crooned in response.

"And thank you, Ava," Susan whispered in her ear. "Thank you for reminding me about the magic of Narnia."

OOOOO

Lucy walked alongside Aslan. They treaded softly over the grass, speaking in hushed voices.

"Is he really gone?" Lucy asked, her hand brushing through Aslan's fur.

"No, dear one," Aslan answered, shaking his mane. "Sylas will return someday. As do all Avellas. They are spirits-never living, never dying."

"But they feel like we do."

"Yes." Aslan's golden eyes met the Valiant Queen's. "They are Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve in every sense but their gifts. They love, cry, laugh. They even die. But they are reborn into the things they hold close. Eventually, when they are strong enough, they even create a new body to reside in, so that they may walk amongst my children and offer the hope they were created for."

"And what happens then? When Sylas comes back?"

"I believe then, Lucy, I shall have to call you back to help me fight him."

Lucy's eyes shone. "Really? You would ask me to come back? But…but Peter's the brave one. Edmund the intelligent one. Susan the caring one. They wouldn't even let me fight this time. What could I do to help?"

"Indeed," Aslan said, "Peter is the brave one, Edmund is the intelligent one and Susan is the caring one." He rubbed his mane against Lucy's side. "But you, my Lucy, are the one that holds them all together. And that is the most powerful magic of all."

Lucy smiled, hugging Aslan tightly, burying her head into his fur. He radiated happiness and faith.

"I almost forgot you," she admitted into his shoulder, the words stinging.

"Look at me, dear one," Aslan told her. She did just that. "You did not forget. You could not forget me anymore than I can forget you. Now dry those tears and let us walk and we shall forget all about forgetting."

Lucy brushed the tears from her eyes and nodded.

And together, Lion and girl continued forward, Lucy reveling in the last few minutes she had with him.

Until next time.

OOOOO

Peter didn't say his goodbyes until they arrived at the meadow where they had first come upon Caspian and the Cantricals. It felt like an eternity ago. He walked around, images of wounded riders falling to the ground slipping in and out of vision.

And then he saw her. That little girl who had spit in his face right before dying. She wasn't there-her body had been mopped up long ago. But she was there in Peter's mind. Haunting him. He said a few quiet words in honor of her life, wishing now more than ever he could have saved her.

The procession of people who had come to say goodbye were few and far between. Caspian. Maria. Ava. Lily. Aslan. Quinn. Zaian. The man from the Pine. The Keeper of Love, who introduced himself as Taven. One of the Cantrical men who had walked Ilena and Peter to the 'chapel'.

"You have done well," Aslan said, looking to each Pevensie in turn. "Narnia is once again in your debt."

"Will we see you again?" asked Susan, surprising them all.

Aslan nodded. "I will always be there. For all of you."

From all sides of the congregation tears began spilling. Hastily, Peter looked away. He already felt unhinged. Crying was the last thing he needed right now.

"We'll miss you! All of you!" said Lucy.

"And we shall miss you," replied Maria. She held Ava up and waved her tiny hand. _Awww_s swept the crowd.

"I find myself in the position to once more say: I could not have done this without you," Caspian told Peter, who nodded. They understood. They may not always see eye to eye. But they respected one another.

"Don't be gone too long," Maria said. "Come back in fifteen years and see us again! Ava will be old enough to remember you then."

The siblings all agreed about coming back, but in their minds they knew that the only way they'd return was if Narnia was in danger. And they were willing to give up a thousand visits to keep the peace.

"It is time," said Aslan and he motioned toward a portion of the meadow.

Peter placed the shield down, the same shield that Caspian and then Edmund had wielded during that first battle. One by one, the Pevensies all walked toward it. Peter went first. He stepped onto the dented metal, staring down at Aslan's face between his feet.

Suddenly, the shield's face disappeared and Peter fell through the hole. Maria screamed after him, taken aback by the turn of events. It was only when Aslan bowed his head toward Edmund and the Just King also approached the shield that she quieted down.

Like his brother, Edmund stepped onto the shield and waited for the face to disappear. He, too, fell through, almost as if a vacuum lay on the other side, sucking him down.

Susan went next, sending a little wave to Maria and Caspian before she disappeared.

Lucy went last. Taking her place, she gazed around at those watching, a small smile lifting the corners of her cheeks. "Goodbye!" she exclaimed.

Then she was gone.

Back in Finchley, four children stumbled through a closet door, landing in a giant heap on the floor. There were many _Get off my arm!_s and _Ed, get your foot out of my face!_s. It was only when each had collected their respective body parts that they stopped to look at one another.

Another journey to Narnia ended. Another task completed. Another battle won.

Slowly, smiles spread from one to the next. They had done it yet again.

"Dears, are you going outside?" Mrs. Pevensies's voice was like a beacon at the end of a dark tunnel. At the sound, Lucy scrambled to her feet and whipped around the corner, hugging her mother tightly.

"Lucy, what it is?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, looking down at her youngest.

"I love you, Mum," Lucy said simply.

Mrs. Pevensie looked dreadfully confused, but she didn't pull away. And then, without warning, she was joined by three more bodies. She laughed, hugging her children with a love only a mother can give.

After quite some time, Lucy wound her way out of her siblings and ran to the closet. She opened the door and stared inside. But there was nothing there. Just coats and mittens and scarves and other clothing. Her heart grew sad.

_Forget about forgetting._

A breath of air floated out, sending her hair flying. Aslan's breath. Her frown morphed into a smile and she grabbed her snow things, flinging them on unceremoniously. Soon Peter, Edmund and Susan joined her.

They played in the snow for just over an hour. Lucy and Edmund attempted to build a snowman. After three unsuccessful tries they abandoned their efforts and resorted to a snowball fight. Susan, who had been tasting snowflakes on her tongue soon got caught in the crossfire. She hurled a snowball at Edmund.

"Hey, no fair!" Edmund said, wiping the snow from his ear and bending down.

Susan ran away in response, taking refuge behind a tree.

Peter merely sat on the front porch, watching them with a withered expression. He felt old. Narnia always did that to him. Made him feel like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And then returned him home to deal with it in his own way.

Briefly, he wondered which season was Ilena's favorite. She'd never told him. There were so many things they hadn't known about one another. It saddened him.

"Look out, Pete!" Edmund yelled.

Peter didn't react in time and a snowball hit him square in the face. Cleaning the snow from his cheeks, he looked around and caught sight of Lucy. She gave a little squeal and sprinted away from him.

"Oh no you don't!" he laughed, and he tore after her, unleashing his own volley of snowballs.

And so life went on.

Mrs. Pevensie watched from the window, surveying each of her children. They seemed different somehow. Once again more grown up. Once again more thoughtful. Once again off in their own little worlds.

A snowball hit the window and she laughed.

Of course, some things would never change.

OOOOO

It was exactly one year later when the Pevensies received a knock on their door. They were sitting around the fireplace, stringing popcorn for their Christmas tree, teasing Edmund about his crush on a girl, when the light rapping came.

"Go and get that, would you, Peter?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, handing Lucy a sugar cookie that had finally cooled.

Peter set down his length of string and strode toward the door. Pulling it open, he jumped back slightly at what met him on the other side. A dozen carolers, all bundled up in hats and scarves, were peering at him happily. They started to sing.

At the sound, the rest of the Pevensies joined Peter, beaming as their favorite renditions of _O Christmas Tree_ and _Angels We Have Heard on High_ and many other songs graced their ears. Lucy snuggled into her mother's side for warmth as snow swirled into their drawing room.

Six songs later, the carolers tipped their hats, gathered their songbooks and began to walk down the drive toward the next house over. Lucy, Edmund and Susan returned to their stringing; Mrs. Pevensie to the kitchen, where more cookies lay in wait. Only Peter remained.

Something had caught his eye.

As the carolers departed, they slipped around a small figure, huddled at the center of the mass. She had on a red hat, and white scarf, which was wrapped tightly around her neck. Against the swirling blizzard, the only features Peter could make out were her eyes.

Sapphire. Evergreen. Hazel.

"Well are you just going to stand there all night, or are you going to let me in?" the figure barked.

Peter let out a deep breath and then he was moving. He bounded across the porch and flung his arms around her. Small arms worked their way around him as well. He leaned down, breathing in the scent from her hair.

Still sweet.

Pushing back her hat, he put a finger under her chin and forced her to look up at him. "I love you," he said, the words pouring out of his lips with ease. He couldn't even begin to tell her how much he had missed her.

Ilena smiled. "I love you."

And then, despite the fact that his entire family was watching from the window, Peter leaned down and kissed her. Applause exploded from the drawing room. Peter didn't hear it; he was trapped in a cocoon of warmth from his head to his feet.

After several minutes, or perhaps several hours, the two broke apart. They stared at one another, sporting identical smiles. Peter's hand found hers and he pulled her to the house and through the door.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. The carolers continued to sing. The joy of the season worked its magic over the inhabitants of the Pevensie house.

But it was just another magical moment for four very happy children.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, there you have it. It took thirty chapters, and a year and seven days to complete.

I'd just like to take a moment to thank all of my reviewers. You guys kept me writing. I apologize for the long waits, the typos, the terrible grammar and the overall lack of timeliness. The fact that you stuck with me means a lot.

That being said, if you haven't reviewed up until this point, I'd really appreciate a review now. What did you love about this fic? Hate? What would you change? What advice could you give me about my writing, the plot, the characters, etc.? Questions? Comments? Concerns? I'd love to hear it all. Just remember, how you say it is as important as what you say :)

If you feel inclined for more—while I'm editing this—please check out my Edmund story, _Vindicated_. You can find a link for it on my profile.

Again, thanks for reading, and have a magical day.

- Brittany


	31. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

Hey, guys! Brittany here.

So, I'm still in the process of editing this fic. With all the classes I'm taking this semester, I've been really busy. Never fear, though. Eventually (and I do mean _eventually_) all the typos and grammar errors will be taken care of.

And now for the good news! I know I originally stated that there would be no sequel to this. When I wrote the final chapter, I felt I left the characters in a good place. Those characters did not agree. Peter, Lucy, Edmund, Susan, Ilena and the gang all demanded for another adventure. So during the time I've neglected editing _Rise of the Cantricals_, I've actually been writing the next chapter in all their lives.

_Day of Reckoning_ is my new fic in the world of Narnia and Avellas. The first chapter is done and published, with the next ten ready to be put on fanfiction. If you head to my profile, you'll find the link to it. If you do happen to read it, please take a moment to send me a review. :) I would appreciate it. Many characters from _Rise of the Cantricals_ will be making an appearance. Full details can be found in the first chapter.

I hope you are all having wonderful days and that you'll come join the Pevensies as they are once again called in to save the day.

- Brittany


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